by Eliza Gordon
Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it. They continued talking together till supper put an end to cards, and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr. Wickham's attentions.
There could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Phillips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to everybody. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done gracefully.
Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all the way home. But there was not time for her even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent.
Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the fish she had won. Mr. Collins in describing the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, protesting that he did not regard his losses at whist in the least. He had more to say than he could well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.
Chapter 14
Elizabeth related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr. Wickham and herself.
Jane listened with astonishment and concern. She could hardly believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard.
"You will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy. To be treating his father's favourite in such a manner, one whom his father had promised to provide for; it is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived? Oh! no."
Elizabeth retorted, "I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on, than Mr. Wickham invented a history of himself. Last night he gave names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony. If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks."
Yet, it was not in Jane's nature to question the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham.
The possibility of his having endured such unkindness, was enough to interest all her tender feelings. Jane concluded to think well of them both and to defend the conduct of each. She argued there must be accident or mistake to account for what could not be otherwise explained.
"They have both been deceived, I dare say, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to know the causes or circumstances which have alienated them."
"Very true, indeed. Now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say on behalf of the interested people who have been concerned in the business?"
"It is difficult indeed—it is distressing. One does not know what to think," Jane said.
Elizabeth remained most firmly set against Darcy. "I beg your pardon; one knows exactly what to think."
from the shrubbery, where
This conversation passed in the shrubbery. The two young ladies were summoned by the arrival of the very persons of whom they had been speaking.
Mr. Bingley and his sisters had come to give their personal invitation to the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the following Tuesday.
The two ladies were delighted to see their dear friend again. They called it an age since they had met, and repeatedly asked Jane what she had been doing with herself since their separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention. They avoided Mrs. Bennet as much as possible and did not say much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others.
The group from Netherfield were soon gone again, hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.
The prospect of the ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in compliment to her eldest daughter. She was particularly flattered at receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley, instead of a ceremonious card.
Jane discussed a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother.
Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr. Darcy's look and behaviour.
The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended less on any single event, or any particular person. Though they each meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them. A ball was, at any rate, a ball.
Even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it. "While I can have my mornings to myself, it is enough. It is no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims on us all. I profess myself one of those who considers intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for everybody."
Elizabeth's spirits were so high on this occasion that she could not help asking Mr. Collins whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's invitation.
She was rather surprised by his reply. "I am by no means of the opinion that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency. I am so far from objecting to dancing, that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening. I take this opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances. A preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect for her."
Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. Mr. Collins's proposal was accepted with as good a grace as she could.
She had fully proposed being engaged by Mr. Wickham for those very dances. To have Mr. Collins instead, her liveliness had never been worse timed. There was no help for it, however. Mr. Wickham's happiness and her own were perforce delayed a little longer.
She was not the better pleased with Mr. Collins's gallantry because it suggested something more. It now first struck her, that she was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being mistress of Hunsford Parsonage. She may be expected to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors.
What started as an idea soon reached to conviction.
She observed his increasing civilities toward herself and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit and vivacity. More astonished than gratified herself by this effect of her charms. It was not long before her mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage was extremely agreeable to her.
Elizabeth did not choose to take the hint of a future union between herself and Mr. Collins's. She was well aware that a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply. With luck, Mr. Collins might never make the offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.
If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, the younger Miss Bennets would have been in a very pitiable state. From the day of the invitation to the day of the ball, there was such a succession of rain, which prevented walking to Meryton. No aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after—the very shoe-roses for Netherfield were got by proxy.
Even Elizabeth might have found some trial of her patience in the weather that suspended the improvement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham.
Nothing less than a dance on Tuesday could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday endurable to Kitty and Lydia.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth had dressed with more than usual care and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart. Any doubt of Mr. Wickham's presence had never occurred to her. Not until she entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for him among the cluster of red coats assembled. The dreadful suspicion arose of his being purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy's pleasure.
The absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend Denny. When Lydia eagerly inquired, he told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before. He had not yet returned. "I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now if he had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here."
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p; This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught by Elizabeth. Darcy was not less answerable for Wickham's absence than if Darcy himself had prevented Wickham from being invited. Every feeling of displeasure against Darcy was sharpened by her immediate disappointment.
Directly afterwards, Darcy approached to make polite inquiries. Elizabeth could hardly reply with tolerable civility. She was resolved against any conversation with him and turned away with a degree of ill-humour. Ill-feeling which she could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley. His blind partiality towards Darcy provoked her.
Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour. Her damaged prospects for the evening could not dwell long on her spirits.
She told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week. Soon conversation made a voluntary transition to the oddities of her cousin, Mr. Collins, whom she pointed out.
The first two dances brought a return of distress; they were dances of mortification.
Awkward and solemn, Mr. Collins, apologising instead of attending, and often moved wrong without being aware of it. He gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner can give for a couple of dances. The moment of her release from him was ecstasy.
She danced next with an officer and had the refreshment of talking of Wickham. She delighted in hearing that he was universally liked.
When those dances were over, and she was in conversation with Charlotte Lucas, Mr. Darcy took Elizabeth by surprise in his application for her hand. She had accepted before thinking. He walked away again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of mind.
Charlotte tried to console her. "I dare say you will find him very agreeable."
"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an evil."
In a whisper, Charlotte cautioned her not to be a simpleton by allowing her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man ten times his consequence.
When the dancing recommenced, Darcy approached to claim her hand.
Taking her place in the set, Elizabeth became aware of the dignity to which she had arrived in standing opposite Mr. Darcy. At a glance, she read in her neighbours' looks, their equal amazement in beholding it.
They stood for some time without speaking a word. She began to imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances. At first, she resolved not to break it, till fancying that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk. She made some slight observation on the dance.
Darcy replied, and was again silent.
After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time. "It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."
He smiled and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.
"Very well. That reply will do for the present. By and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent."
"Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?"
"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together. Yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," replied Elizabeth archly. "For I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition. We are unwilling to speak unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room. Something that will be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb."
"There is a striking resemblance of your character, to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait."
"I must not decide on my performance."
He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance. He asked her if she and her sisters often walked to Meryton.
She answered in the affirmative. Unable to resist the temptation, she added, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."
The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not a word. Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on.
At length, Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."
"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life," replied Elizabeth with emphasis.
Darcy made no answer and seemed desirous of changing the subject.
At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room. On perceiving Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his partner. "I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such very superior dancing is rarely seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say that your fair partner does not disgrace you. I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Eliza shall take place." He glanced at her sister and Bingley. "What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy, but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also scolding me."
Sir William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike Darcy forcibly. With a very serious expression, his eyes directed towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, he turned to his partner, and said, "Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking about."
"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine."
"What think you of books?" said he, smiling.
"Books—oh! No. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings."
"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."
"No—I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else."
"The present always occupies you in such scenes—does it?" said he, with a look of doubt.
"Yes, always," she replied, without knowing what she said. Her thoughts had wandered far from the subject. "I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created."
"I am," said he, with a firm voice.
"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"
"I hope not."
"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first."
"May I ask to what these questions tend?"
"Merely to the illustration of your character," said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. "I am trying to make it out."
"And what is your success?"
She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."
"I can readily believe that reports may vary greatly concerning me. I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment. There is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either."
"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity."
"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he coldly replied.
She said no
more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence.
They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain accosted her.
"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham! Your sister has been talking to me about him and asking me a thousand questions. I find that the young man quite forgot to tell you, among his other communication, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions. About Mr. Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false. On the contrary, he has always been kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the details, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame and he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned. My brother could not avoid including Wickham in his invitation to the officers, but he was glad to find he had gone away. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent thing, indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite's guilt. But really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better."
"His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same," said Elizabeth angrily. "I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself."
"I beg your pardon," replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. "Excuse my interference—it was kindly meant."
"Insolent girl!" said Elizabeth to herself. "You are much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy."
After the exchange, Elizabeth sought her eldest sister, who has undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, showing how well the occurrences of the evening satisfied her. Elizabeth saw Jane's joy. At that moment solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else gave way. The hope of Jane's being in the fairest way for happiness being important to Elizabeth.