Chapter 4
When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been
cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her
sister just how very much she admired him.
“He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she, “sensible,
good-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!—so
much ease, with such perfect good breeding!”
“He is also handsome,” replied Elizabeth, “which a young man
ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is
thereby complete.”
“I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second
time. I did not expect such a compliment.”
“Did not you? _I_ did for you. But that is one great difference
between us. Compliments always take _you_ by surprise, and _me_
never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He
could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as
every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for
that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave
to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.”
“Dear Lizzy!”
“Oh! you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in
general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good
and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a
human being in your life.”
“I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always
speak what I think.”
“I know you do; and it is _that_ which makes the wonder. With
_your_ good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and
nonsense of others! Affectation of candour is common enough—one
meets with it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or
design—to take the good of everybody’s character and make it
still better, and say nothing of the bad—belongs to you alone.
And so you like this man’s sisters, too, do you? Their manners
are not equal to his.”
“Certainly not—at first. But they are very pleasing women when
you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother,
and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a
very charming neighbour in her.”
Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced; their
behaviour at the assembly had not been calculated to please in
general; and with more quickness of observation and less pliancy
of temper than her sister, and with a judgement too unassailed by
any attention to herself, she was very little disposed to approve
them. They were in fact very fine ladies; not deficient in good
humour when they were pleased, nor in the power of making
themselves agreeable when they chose it, but proud and conceited.
They were rather handsome, had been educated in one of the first
private seminaries in town, had a fortune of twenty thousand
pounds, were in the habit of spending more than they ought, and
of associating with people of rank, and were therefore in every
respect entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of
others. They were of a respectable family in the north of
England; a circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories
than that their brother’s fortune and their own had been acquired
by trade.
Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred
thousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an
estate, but did not live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended it
likewise, and sometimes made choice of his county; but as he was
now provided with a good house and the liberty of a manor, it was
doubtful to many of those who best knew the easiness of his
temper, whether he might not spend the remainder of his days at
Netherfield, and leave the next generation to purchase.
His sisters were anxious for his having an estate of his own;
but, though he was now only established as a tenant, Miss Bingley
was by no means unwilling to preside at his table—nor was Mrs.
Hurst, who had married a man of more fashion than fortune, less
disposed to consider his house as her home when it suited her.
Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years, when he was tempted by
an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did
look at it, and into it for half-an-hour—was pleased with the
situation and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner
said in its praise, and took it immediately.
Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in
spite of great opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to
Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper,
though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own,
and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. On the
strength of Darcy’s regard, Bingley had the firmest reliance, and
of his judgement the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy was
the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was
clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and
fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting.
In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley was
sure of being liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually
giving offense.
The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was
sufficiently characteristic. Bingley had never met with more
pleasant people or prettier girls in his life; everybody had been
most kind and attentive to him; there had been no formality, no
stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted with all the room; and, as
to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel more beautiful.
Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people in whom
there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had
felt the smallest interest, and from none received either
attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty,
but she smiled too much.
Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so—but still they
admired her and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl,
and one whom they would not object to know more of. Miss Bennet
was therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother felt
authorized by such commendation to think of her as he chose.
Chapter 5
Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the
Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been
formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had made a tolerable
fortune, and risen to the honour of knighthood by an address to
the king during his mayoralty. The distinction had perhaps been
felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business,
and to his residence in a small market town; and, in quitting
them both, he had removed with his family to a house about a mile
from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge, where he
could think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled
by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the
world. For, though elated by his rank, it did not render him
supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody.
By nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his presentation
at St. James’s had made him courteous.
Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a
valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The
eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about
twenty-seven, was Elizabeth’s intimate friend.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk
over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the
assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to
communicate.
“_You_ began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet with
civil self-command to Miss Lucas. “_You_ were Mr. Bingley’s first
choice.”
“Yes; but he seemed to like his second better.”
“Oh! you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice.
To be sure that _did_ seem as if he admired her—indeed I rather
believe he _did_—I heard something about it—but I hardly know
what—something about Mr. Robinson.”
“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson;
did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson’s asking him how he
liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not think there
were a great many pretty women in the room, and _which_ he
thought the prettiest? and his answering immediately to the last
question: ‘Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there
cannot be two opinions on that point.’”
“Upon my word! Well, that is very decided indeed—that does seem
as if—but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know.”
“_My_ overhearings were more to the purpose than _yours_, Eliza,”
said Charlotte. “Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as
his friend, is he?—poor Eliza!—to be only just _tolerable_.”
“I beg you would not put it into Lizzy’s head to be vexed by his
ill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man, that it would
be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last
night that he sat close to her for half-an-hour without once
opening his lips.”
“Are you quite sure, ma’am?—is not there a little mistake?” said
Jane. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”
“Aye—because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and
he could not help answering her; but she said he seemed quite
angry at being spoke to.”
“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much,
unless among his intimate acquaintances. With _them_ he is
remarkably agreeable.”
“I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very
agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how
it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare
say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage,
and had come to the ball in a hack chaise.”
“I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,” said Miss Lucas,
“but I wish he had danced with Eliza.”
“Another time, Lizzy,” said her mother, “I would not dance with
_him_, if I were you.”
“I believe, ma’am, I may safely promise you _never_ to dance with
him.”
“His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend _me_ so much as
pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot
wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune,
everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I
may so express it, he has a _right_ to be proud.”
“That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily
forgive _his_ pride, if he had not mortified _mine_.”
“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of
her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all
that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common
indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that
there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of
self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or
imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the
words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without
being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves,
vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came
with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would
keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day.”
“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” said
Mrs. Bennet; “and if I were to see you at it, I should take away
your bottle directly.”
The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare
that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.
Chapter 6
The ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The
visit was soon returned in due form. Miss Bennet’s pleasing
manners grew on the goodwill of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and
though the mother was found to be intolerable, and the younger
sisters not worth speaking to, a wish of being better acquainted
with _them_ was expressed towards the two eldest. By Jane, this
attention was received with the greatest pleasure, but Elizabeth
still saw superciliousness in their treatment of everybody,
hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them; though
their kindness to Jane, such as it was, had a value as arising in
all probability from the influence of their brother’s admiration.
It was generally evident whenever they met, that he _did_ admire
her and to _her_ it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to
the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the
first, and was in a way to be very much in love; but she
considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered
by the world in general, since Jane united, with great strength
of feeling, a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of
manner which would guard her from the suspicions of the
impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.
“It may perhaps be pleasant,” replied Charlotte, “to be able to
impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a
disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her
affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose
the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor
consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so
much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it
is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all _begin_ freely—a
slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us
who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement.
In nine cases out of ten a woman had better show _more_ affection
than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may
never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.”
“But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If
_I_ can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton,
indeed, not to discover it too.”
“Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane’s disposition as you
do.”
“But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to
conceal it, he must find it out.”
“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But, though Bingley
and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours
together; and, as they always see each other in large mixed
parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in
conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every
half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is
secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as
much as she chooses.”
“Your plan is a good one,” replied Elizabeth, “where nothing is
in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were
determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I
should adopt it. But these are not Jane’s feelings; she is not
acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the
degree of her own regard nor of its reasonableness. She has known
him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton;
she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined
with him in company four times. This is not quite enough to make
her understand his character.”
“Not as you represent it. Had she merely _dined_ with him, she
might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but
you must remember that four evenings have also been spent
together—and four evenings may do a great deal.”
“Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that
they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with respect to
any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has
been unfolded.”
“Well,” said Charlotte, “I wish Jane success with all my heart;
and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had
as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his
character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a
matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so
well known to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does
not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to
grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of
vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the
defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”
“You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it
is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself.”
Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley’s attentions to her sister,
Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming
an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy
had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at
her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he
looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it
clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good
feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered
uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark
eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying.
Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure
of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her
figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting
that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was
caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly
unaware; to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable
nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance
with.
He began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards
conversing with her himself, attended to her conversation with
others. His doing so drew her notice. It was at Sir William
Lucas’s, where a large party were assembled.
“What does Mr. Darcy mean,” said she to Charlotte, “by listening
to my conversation with Colonel Forster?”
“That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.”
“But if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know that I
see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do
not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid
of him.”
On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming
to have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend
to mention such a subject to him; which immediately provoking
Elizabeth to do it, she turned to him and said:
“Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly
well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a
ball at Meryton?”
“With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady
energetic.”
“You are severe on us.”
“It will be _her_ turn soon to be teased,” said Miss Lucas. “I am
going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.”
“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!—always
wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my
vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable;
but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who
must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.” On
Miss Lucas’s persevering, however, she added, “Very well, if it
must be so, it must.” And gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, “There
is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar
with: ‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge’; and I shall keep
mine to swell my song.”
Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a
song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of
several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at
the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of
being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge
and accomplishments, was always impatient for display.
Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given
her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and
conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of
excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected,
had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing
half so well; and Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad
to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the
request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases,
and two or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end
of the room.
Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of
passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and
was too much engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir
William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:
“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy!
There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of
the first refinements of polished society.”
“Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue
amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage
can dance.”
Sir William only smiled. “Your friend performs delightfully,” he
continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; “and I
doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr.
Darcy.”
“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.”
“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the
sight. Do you often dance at St. James’s?”
“Never, sir.”
“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”
“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid
it.”
“You have a house in town, I conclude?”
Mr. Darcy bowed.
“I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself—for I am
fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that
the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”
He paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not
disposed to make any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving
towards them, he was struck with the action of doing a very
gallant thing, and called out to her:
“My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must
allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable
partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much
beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he would have given
it to Mr. Darcy who, though extremely surprised, was not
unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said
with some discomposure to Sir William:
“Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I
entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg
for a partner.”
Mr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the
honour of her hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor
did Sir William at all shake her purpose by his attempt at
persuasion.
“You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to
deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman
dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am
sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.”
“Mr. Darcy is all politeness,” said Elizabeth, smiling.
“He is, indeed; but, considering the inducement, my dear Miss
Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance—for who would object
to such a partner?”
Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not
injured her with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with
some complacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley:
“I can guess the subject of your reverie.”
“I should imagine not.”
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many
evenings in this manner—in such society; and indeed I am quite of
your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet
the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all
those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”
“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more
agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great
pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman
can bestow.”
Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired
he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such
reflections. Mr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity:
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. “I am all
astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite?—and pray,
when am I to wish you joy?”
“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A
lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to
love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be
wishing me joy.”
“Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter is
absolutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law,
indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with
you.”
He listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to
entertain herself in this manner; and as his composure convinced
her that all was safe, her wit flowed long.