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- pride-and-prejudice
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- turned to his daughter and said,--
“Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman.”
Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his
goodness.
“You are a good girl,” he replied, “and I have great pleasure in
thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your
doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are
each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so
easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will
always exceed your income.”
“I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters would be
unpardonable in _me_.”
“Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet,” cried his wife, “what are you
talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a year, and very likely
more.” Then addressing her daughter, “Oh, my dear, dear Jane, I am so
happy! I am sure I shan’t get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it
would be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not
be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when
he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was
that you should come together. Oh, he is the handsomest young man that
ever was seen!”
Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her
favourite child. At that moment she cared for no other. Her younger
sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness
which she might in future be able to dispense.
Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty
begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.
Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn;
coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after
supper; unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough
detested, had given him an invitation to dinner, which he thought
himself obliged to accept.
Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister; for
while he was present Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else: but
she found herself considerably useful to both of them, in those hours of
separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he always
attached himself to Elizabeth for the pleasure of talking of her; and
when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of relief.
“He has made me so happy,” said she, one evening, “by telling me that he
was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not believed
it possible.”
“I suspected as much,” replied Elizabeth. “But how did he account for
it?”
“It must have been his sisters’ doing. They were certainly no friends to
his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have
chosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see,
as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will
learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again: though we
can never be what we once were to each other.”
“That is the most unforgiving speech,” said Elizabeth, “that I ever
heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again
the dupe of Miss Bingley’s pretended regard.”
“Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November he
really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of _my_ being indifferent
would have prevented his coming down again?”
“He made a little mistake, to be sure; but it is to the credit of his
modesty.”
This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and
the little value he put on his own good qualities.
Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not betrayed the interference
of his friend; for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving
heart in the world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice
her against him.
“I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!” cried
Jane. “Oh, Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed
above them all? If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such
another man for you!”
“If you were to give me forty such men I never could be so happy as you.
Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your
happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very
good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time.”
The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a
secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and
she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her
neighbours in Meryton.
The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the
world; though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away,
they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LVI.
[Illustration]
One morning, about a week after Bingley’s engagement with Jane had been
formed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the
dining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window by the
sound of a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the
lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors; and besides, the
equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses
were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who
preceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, that
somebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid
the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the
shrubbery. They both set off; and the conjectures of the remaining three
continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown
open, and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
They were of course all intending to be surprised: but their
astonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs.
Bennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even
inferior to what Elizabeth felt.
She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no
other reply to Elizabeth’s salutation than a slight inclination of the
head, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her
name to her mother on her Ladyship’s entrance, though no request of
introduction had been made.
Mrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such
high importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting
for a moment in silence, she said, very stiffly, to Elizabeth,--
“I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your
mother?”
Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was.
“And _that_, I suppose, is one of your sisters?”
“Yes, madam,” said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to a Lady Catherine.
“She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all is lately married,
and my eldest is somewhere about the ground, walking with a young man,
who, I believe, will soon become a part of the family.”
“You have a very small park here,” returned Lady Catherine, after a
short silence.
“It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my Lady, I dare say; but, I
assure you, it is much larger than Sir William Lucas’s.”
“This must be a most inconvenient sitting-room for the evening in
summer: the windows are full west.”
Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner; and then
added,--
“May I take the liberty of asking your Ladyship whether you left Mr. and
Mrs. Collins well?”
“Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last.”
Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from
Charlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no
letter appeared, and she was completely puzzled.
Mrs.