Miss Bingley's letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very
first sentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in
London for the winter, and concluded with her brother's regret at not
having had time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire
before he left the country.
Hope was over, entirely over; and when
Jane could attend to the rest of the letter, she found little, except
the professed affection of the writer, that could give her any comfort.
Miss Darcy's praise occupied the chief of it. Her many attractions were
again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their increasing
intimacy, and ventured to predict the accomplishment of the wishes which
had been unfolded in her former letter. She wrote also with great
pleasure of her brother's being an inmate of Mr. Darcy's house, and
mentioned with raptures some plans of the latter with regard to new
furniture.
Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the
chief of all this, heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided
between concern for her sister, and resentment against all others. To
Caroline's assertion of her brother's being partial to Miss Darcy she
paid no credit. That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more
than she had ever done; and much as she had always been disposed to like
him, she could not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on
that easiness of temper, that want of proper resolution, which now made
him the slave of his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice of his
own happiness to the caprice of their inclination. Had his own
happiness, however, been the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed
to sport with it in whatever manner he thought best, but her sister's
was involved in it, as she thought he must be sensible himself. It was a
subject, in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must
be unavailing. She could think of nothing else; and yet whether
Bingley's regard had really died away, or were suppressed by his
friends' interference; whether he had been aware of Jane's attachment,
or whether it had escaped his observation; whatever were the case,
though her opinion of him must be materially affected by the difference,
her sister's situation remained the same, her peace equally wounded.
A
day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to
Elizabeth; but at last, on Mrs. Bennet's leaving them together, after a
longer irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master, she could
not help saying:
"Oh, that my dear mother had more command over
herself! She can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual
reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will
be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before."
Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said nothing.
"You
doubt me," cried Jane, slightly colouring; "indeed, you have no reason.
He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance,
but that is all. I have nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to
reproach him with. Thank God! I have not _that_ pain. A little time,
therefore--I shall certainly try to get the better."
With a
stronger voice she soon added, "I have this comfort immediately, that it
has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has
done no harm to anyone but myself."
"My dear Jane!" exclaimed
Elizabeth, "you are too good. Your sweetness and disinterestedness are
really angelic; I do not know what to say to you. I feel as if I had
never done you justice, or loved you as you deserve."
Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back the praise on her sister's warm affection.
"Nay,"
said Elizabeth, "this is not fair. _You_ wish to think all the world
respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want to
think _you_ perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not be afraid
of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your privilege of
universal good-will. You need not. There are few people whom I really
love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world,
the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of
the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence
that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense. I have met with
two instances lately, one I will not mention; the other is Charlotte's
marriage. It is unaccountable! In every view it is unaccountable!"
"My
dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will ruin
your happiness. You do not make allowance enough for difference of
situation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins's respectability, and
Charlotte's steady, prudent character. Remember that she is one of a
large family; that as to fortune, it is a most eligible match; and be
ready to believe, for everybody's sake, that she may feel something like
regard and esteem for our cousin."
"To oblige you, I would try to
believe almost anything, but no one else could be benefited by such a
belief as this; for were I persuaded that Charlotte had any regard for
him, I should only think worse of her understanding than I now do of her
heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous,
narrow-minded, silly man; you know he is, as well as I do; and you must
feel, as well as I do, that the woman who married him cannot have a
proper way of thinking. You shall not defend her, though it is Charlotte
Lucas. You shall not, for the sake of one individual, change the
meaning of principle and integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself
or me, that selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger
security for happiness."
"I must think your language too strong in
speaking of both," replied Jane; "and I hope you will be convinced of
it by seeing them happy together. But enough of this. You alluded to
something else. You mentioned _two_ instances. I cannot misunderstand
you, but I entreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking _that
person_ to blame, and saying your opinion of him is sunk. We must not be
so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a
lively young man to be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very
often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy
admiration means more than it does."
"And men take care that they should."
"If
it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have no idea of
there being so much design in the world as some persons imagine."
"I
am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley's conduct to design,"
said Elizabeth; "but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others
unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness,
want of attention to other people's feelings, and want of resolution,
will do the business."
"And do you impute it to either of those?"
"Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what I think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can."
"You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him?"
"Yes, in conjunction with his friend."
"I
cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can only
wish his happiness; and if he is attached to me, no other woman can
secure it."
"Your first position is false. They may wish many
things besides his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and
consequence; they may wish him to marry a girl who has all the
importance of money, great connections, and pride."
"Beyond a
doubt, they _do_ wish him to choose Miss Darcy," replied Jane; "but this
may be from better feelings than you are supposing. They have known her
much longer than they have known me; no wonder if they love her better.
But, whatever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely they should
have opposed their brother's. What sister would think herself at liberty
to do it, unless there were something very objectionable? If they
believed him attached to me, they would not try to part us; if he were
so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an affection, you make
everybody acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not
distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken--or,
at least, it is light, it is nothing in comparison of what I should feel
in thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it in the best
light, in the light in which it may be understood."
Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley's name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.
Mrs.
Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning no more,
and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not account for it
clearly, there was little chance of her ever considering it with less
perplexity. Her daughter endeavoured to convince her of what she did not
believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect
of a common and transient liking, which ceased when he saw her no more;
but though the probability of the statement was admitted at the time,
she had the same story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet's best comfort
was that Mr. Bingley must be down again in the summer.
Mr. Bennet
treated the matter differently. "So, Lizzy," said he one day, "your
sister is crossed in love, I find. I congratulate her. Next to being
married, a girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is
something to think of, and it gives her a sort of distinction among her
companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long
outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers enough in Meryton
to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be _your_
man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably."
"Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane's good fortune."
"True,"
said Mr. Bennet, "but it is a comfort to think that whatever of that
kind may befall you, you have an affectionate mother who will make the
most of it."
Mr. Wickham's society was of material service in
dispelling the gloom which the late perverse occurrences had thrown on
many of the Longbourn family. They saw him often, and to his other
recommendations was now added that of general unreserve. The whole of
what Elizabeth had already heard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that
he had suffered from him, was now openly acknowledged and publicly
canvassed; and everybody was pleased to know how much they had always
disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything of the matter.
Miss
Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be any
extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the society of
Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for
allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes--but by everybody else
Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men. _