Chapter 9
Elizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister’s room, and
in the morning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable
answer to the enquiries which she very early received from Mr.
Bingley by a housemaid, and some time afterwards from the two
elegant ladies who waited on his sisters. In spite of this
amendment, however, she requested to have a note sent to
Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her own
judgement of her situation. The note was immediately dispatched,
and its contents as quickly complied with. Mrs. Bennet,
accompanied by her two youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon
after the family breakfast.
Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have
been very miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her that her
illness was not alarming, she had no wish of her recovering
immediately, as her restoration to health would probably remove
her from Netherfield. She would not listen, therefore, to her
daughter’s proposal of being carried home; neither did the
apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think it at all
advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss
Bingley’s appearance and invitation, the mother and three
daughters all attended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley
met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet
worse than she expected.
“Indeed I have, sir,” was her answer. “She is a great deal too
ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her.
We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”
“Removed!” cried Bingley. “It must not be thought of. My sister,
I am sure, will not hear of her removal.”
“You may depend upon it, Madam,” said Miss Bingley, with cold
civility, “that Miss Bennet will receive every possible attention
while she remains with us.”
Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.
“I am sure,” she added, “if it was not for such good friends I do
not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed,
and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the
world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without
exception, the sweetest temper I have ever met with. I often tell
my other girls they are nothing to _her_. You have a sweet room
here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over the gravel walk.
I do not know a place in the country that is equal to
Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I
hope, though you have but a short lease.”
“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” replied he; “and therefore if
I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in
five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite
fixed here.”
“That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,” said
Elizabeth.
“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” cried he, turning towards
her.
“Oh! yes—I understand you perfectly.”
“I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily
seen through I am afraid is pitiful.”
“That is as it happens. It does not follow that a deep, intricate
character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.”
“Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are, and do not
run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”
“I did not know before,” continued Bingley immediately, “that you
were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”
“Yes, but intricate characters are the _most_ amusing. They have
at least that advantage.”
“The country,” said Darcy, “can in general supply but a few
subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in
a very confined and unvarying society.”
“But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new
to be observed in them for ever.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of
mentioning a country neighbourhood. “I assure you there is quite
as much of _that_ going on in the country as in town.”
Everybody was surprised, and Darcy, after looking at her for a
moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had
gained a complete victory over him, continued her triumph.
“I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the
country, for my part, except the shops and public places. The
country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?”
“When I am in the country,” he replied, “I never wish to leave
it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have
each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.”
“Aye—that is because you have the right disposition. But that
gentleman,” looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was
nothing at all.”
“Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for
her mother. “You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that
there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the
country as in the town, which you must acknowledge to be true.”
“Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not
meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there
are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with
four-and-twenty families.”
Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep
his countenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her
eyes towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth,
for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother’s
thoughts, now asked her if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn
since _her_ coming away.
“Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man
Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, is not he? So much the man of
fashion! So genteel and easy! He has always something to say to
everybody. _That_ is my idea of good breeding; and those persons
who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths,
quite mistake the matter.”
“Did Charlotte dine with you?”
“No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the
mince-pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, _I_ always keep servants
that can do their own work; _my_ daughters are brought up very
differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the
Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity
they are not handsome! Not that _I_ think Charlotte so _very_
plain—but then she is our particular friend.”
“She seems a very pleasant young woman.”
“Oh! dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas
herself has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not
like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane—one does not
often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do
not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was
a man at my brother Gardiner’s in town so much in love with her
that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before
we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her
too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty
they were.”
“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “There
has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder
who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away
love!”
“I have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love,” said
Darcy.
“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what
is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of
inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it
entirely away.”
Darcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made
Elizabeth tremble lest her mother should be exposing herself
again. She longed to speak, but could think of nothing to say;
and after a short silence Mrs. Bennet began repeating her thanks
to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane, with an apology for
troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was unaffectedly civil
in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be civil also,
and say what the occasion required. She performed her part indeed
without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and
soon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the
youngest of her daughters put herself forward. The two girls had
been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and the
result of it was, that the youngest should tax Mr. Bingley with
having promised on his first coming into the country to give a
ball at Netherfield.
Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine
complexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her
mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early
age. She had high animal spirits, and a sort of natural
self-consequence, which the attention of the officers, to whom
her uncle’s good dinners, and her own easy manners recommended
her, had increased into assurance. She was very equal, therefore,
to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and abruptly
reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be the most
shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer to
this sudden attack was delightful to their mother’s ear:
“I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and
when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the
very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing when
she is ill.”
Lydia declared herself satisfied. “Oh! yes—it would be much
better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely
Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given
_your_ ball,” she added, “I shall insist on their giving one
also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he
does not.”
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth
returned instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations’
behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the
latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed on to join in
their censure of _her_, in spite of all Miss Bingley’s witticisms
on _fine eyes_.
Chapter 10
The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and
Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the
invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the
evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. The
loo-table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and
Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his
letter and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to
his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs.
Hurst was observing their game.
Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in
attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The
perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting,
or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter,
with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received,
formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in union with her
opinion of each.
“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”
He made no answer.
“You write uncommonly fast.”
“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course
of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think
them!”
“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of
yours.”
“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I
mend pens remarkably well.”
“Thank you—but I always mend my own.”
“How can you contrive to write so even?”
He was silent.
“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on
the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with
her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it
infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”
“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write
again? At present I have not room to do them justice.”
“Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do
you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”
“They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not
for me to determine.”
“It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter
with ease, cannot write ill.”
“That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” cried her
brother, “because he does _not_ write with ease. He studies too
much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?”
“My style of writing is very different from yours.”
“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless
way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the
rest.”
“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by
which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my
correspondents.”
“Your humility, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, “must disarm
reproof.”
“Nothing is more deceitful,” said Darcy, “than the appearance of
humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes
an indirect boast.”
“And which of the two do you call _my_ little recent piece of
modesty?”
“The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in
writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity
of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not
estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of
doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the
possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of
the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if
you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield you should be gone in
five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of
compliment to yourself—and yet what is there so very laudable in
a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone,
and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?”
“Nay,” cried Bingley, “this is too much, to remember at night all
the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon
my honour, I believe what I said of myself to be true, and I
believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume
the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before
the ladies.”
“I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that
you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite
as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you
were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, ‘Bingley, you had
better stay till next week,’ you would probably do it, you would
probably not go—and at another word, might stay a month.”
“You have only proved by this,” cried Elizabeth, “that Mr.
Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown
him off now much more than he did himself.”
“I am exceedingly gratified,” said Bingley, “by your converting
what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my
temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that
gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think
better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat
denial, and ride off as fast as I could.”
“Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original
intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?”
“Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must
speak for himself.”
“You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call
mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case,
however, to stand according to your representation, you must
remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire
his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely
desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of
its propriety.”
“To yield readily—easily—to the _persuasion_ of a friend is no
merit with you.”
“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the
understanding of either.”
“You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence
of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would
often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for
arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking
of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as
well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs before we
discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general
and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them
is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great
moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with
the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?”
“Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to
arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which
is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of
intimacy subsisting between the parties?”
“By all means,” cried Bingley; “let us hear all the particulars,
not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will
have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be
aware of. I assure you, that if Darcy were not such a great tall
fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so
much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than
Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his
own house especially, and of a Sunday evening, when he has
nothing to do.”
Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that
he was rather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss
Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an
expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense.
“I see your design, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike an
argument, and want to silence this.”
“Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and
Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall
be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.”
“What you ask,” said Elizabeth, “is no sacrifice on my side; and
Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”
Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.
When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and
Elizabeth for an indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved
with some alacrity to the pianoforte; and, after a polite request
that Elizabeth would lead the way which the other as politely and
more earnestly negatived, she seated herself.
Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus
employed, Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over
some music-books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr.
Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose
that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man; and
yet that he should look at her because he disliked her, was still
more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last that she
drew his notice because there was something more wrong and
reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other
person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him
too little to care for his approbation.
After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm
by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing
near Elizabeth, said to her:
“Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such
an opportunity of dancing a reel?”
She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with
some surprise at her silence.
“Oh!” said she, “I heard you before, but I could not immediately
determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say
‘Yes,’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste;
but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and
cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have,
therefore, made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to
dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare.”
“Indeed I do not dare.”
Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at
his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness
in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody;
and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by
her. He really believed, that were it not for the inferiority of
her connections, he should be in some danger.
Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous; and her
great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received
some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.
She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by
talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in
such an alliance.
“I hope,” said she, as they were walking together in the
shrubbery the next day, “you will give your mother-in-law a few
hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage
of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the
younger girls of running after officers. And, if I may mention so
delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something,
bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady
possesses.”
“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?”
“Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips be
placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your
great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know,
only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you
must not have it taken, for what painter could do justice to
those beautiful eyes?”
“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but
their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine,
might be copied.”
At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and
Elizabeth herself.
“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, in
some confusion, lest they had been overheard.
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away
without telling us that you were coming out.”
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth
to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt
their rudeness, and immediately said:
“This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go
into the avenue.”
But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with
them, laughingly answered:
“No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and
appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by
admitting a fourth. Good-bye.”
She then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambled about, in the
hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so
much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of
hours that evening.