Mrs. Gardiner's caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given
on the first favourable opportunity of speaking to her alone; after
honestly telling her what she thought, she thus went on:
"You are
too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because you are
warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly.
Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself or
endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want of fortune
would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against _him_; he is
a most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he ought to
have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is, you must not
let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all expect you
to use it. Your father would depend on _your_ resolution and good
conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father."
"My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed."
"Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise."
"Well,
then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and
of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent
it."
"Elizabeth, you are not serious now."
"I beg your
pardon, I will try again. At present I am not in love with Mr. Wickham;
no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most
agreeable man I ever saw--and if he becomes really attached to me--I
believe it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence of
it. Oh! _that_ abominable Mr. Darcy! My father's opinion of me does me
the greatest honour, and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My father,
however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be
very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy; but since we
see every day that where there is affection, young people are seldom
withheld by immediate want of fortune from entering into engagements
with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than so many of my
fellow-creatures if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that it would
be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not to
be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first
object. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short, I
will do my best."
"Perhaps it will be as well if you discourage
his coming here so very often. At least, you should not _remind_ your
mother of inviting him."
"As I did the other day," said Elizabeth
with a conscious smile: "very true, it will be wise in me to refrain
from _that_. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is
on your account that he has been so frequently invited this week. You
know my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant company for her
friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I think
to be the wisest; and now I hope you are satisfied."
Her aunt
assured her that she was, and Elizabeth having thanked her for the
kindness of her hints, they parted; a wonderful instance of advice being
given on such a point, without being resented.
Mr. Collins
returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted by the
Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up his abode with the Lucases, his
arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now
fast approaching, and she was at length so far resigned as to think it
inevitable, and even repeatedly to say, in an ill-natured tone, that she
"_wished_ they might be happy." Thursday was to be the wedding day, and
on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit; and when she rose to
take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother's ungracious and reluctant
good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, accompanied her out of the
room. As they went downstairs together, Charlotte said:
"I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza."
"_That_ you certainly shall."
"And I have another favour to ask you. Will you come and see me?"
"We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire."
"I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford."
Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the visit.
"My
father and Maria are coming to me in March," added Charlotte, "and I
hope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as
welcome as either of them."
The wedding took place; the bride and
bridegroom set off for Kent from the church door, and everybody had as
much to say, or to hear, on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard
from her friend; and their correspondence was as regular and frequent as
it had ever been; that it should be equally unreserved was impossible.
Elizabeth could never address her without feeling that all the comfort
of intimacy was over, and though determined not to slacken as a
correspondent, it was for the sake of what had been, rather than what
was. Charlotte's first letters were received with a good deal of
eagerness; there could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak
of her new home, how she would like Lady Catherine, and how happy she
would dare pronounce herself to be; though, when the letters were read,
Elizabeth felt that Charlotte expressed herself on every point exactly
as she might have foreseen. She wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with
comforts, and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house,
furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all to her taste, and Lady
Catherine's behaviour was most friendly and obliging. It was Mr.
Collins's picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened; and
Elizabeth perceived that she must wait for her own visit there to know
the rest.
Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to
announce their safe arrival in London; and when she wrote again,
Elizabeth hoped it would be in her power to say something of the
Bingleys.
Her impatience for this second letter was as well
rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town
without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it,
however, by supposing that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn
had by some accident been lost.
"My aunt," she continued, "is
going to-morrow into that part of the town, and I shall take the
opportunity of calling in Grosvenor Street."
She wrote again when
the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley. "I did not think
Caroline in spirits," were her words, "but she was very glad to see me,
and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was
right, therefore, my last letter had never reached her. I inquired
after their brother, of course. He was well, but so much engaged with
Mr. Darcy that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was
expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as
Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall see them soon
here."
Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced
her that accident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister's being
in town.
Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She
endeavoured to persuade herself that she did not regret it; but she
could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley's inattention. After waiting at
home every morning for a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh
excuse for her, the visitor did at last appear; but the shortness of
her stay, and yet more, the alteration of her manner would allow Jane to
deceive herself no longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion
to her sister will prove what she felt.
"My dearest Lizzy will, I
am sure, be incapable of triumphing in her better judgement, at my
expense, when I confess myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss
Bingley's regard for me. But, my dear sister, though the event has
proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert that,
considering what her behaviour was, my confidence was as natural as your
suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for wishing to be
intimate with me; but if the same circumstances were to happen again, I
am sure I should be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit
till yesterday; and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the
meantime. When she did come, it was very evident that she had no
pleasure in it; she made a slight, formal apology, for not calling
before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every
respect so altered a creature, that when she went away I was perfectly
resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though I cannot
help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me out as she did; I
can safely say that every advance to intimacy began on her side. But I
pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and
because I am very sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I
need not explain myself farther; and though _we_ know this anxiety to
be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily account for her
behaviour to me; and so deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever
anxiety she must feel on his behalf is natural and amiable. I cannot
but wonder, however, at her having any such fears now, because, if he
had at all cared about me, we must have met, long ago. He knows of my
being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself; and yet it
would seem, by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to persuade
herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it.
If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost tempted to
say that there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this. But I
will endeavour to banish every painful thought, and think only of what
will make me happy--your affection, and the invariable kindness of my
dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from you very soon. Miss Bingley said
something of his never returning to Netherfield again, of giving up the
house, but not with any certainty. We had better not mention it. I am
extremely glad that you have such pleasant accounts from our friends at
Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you
will be very comfortable there.--Yours, etc."
This letter gave
Elizabeth some pain; but her spirits returned as she considered that
Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least. All expectation
from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not even wish for a
renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every review of it; and
as a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, she
seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy's sister, as by
Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had
thrown away.
Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of
her promise concerning that gentleman, and required information; and
Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt
than to herself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions
were over, he was the admirer of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful
enough to see it all, but she could see it and write of it without
material pain. Her heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity
was satisfied with believing that _she_ would have been his only choice,
had fortune permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds
was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now
rendering himself agreeable; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps
in this case than in Charlotte's, did not quarrel with him for his wish
of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural; and
while able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish
her, she was ready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both,
and could very sincerely wish him happy.
All this was acknowledged
to Mrs. Gardiner; and after relating the circumstances, she thus went
on: "I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in
love; for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I
should at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil.
But my feelings are not only cordial towards _him_; they are even
impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find out that I hate her at all,
or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of
girl. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been
effectual; and though I certainly should be a more interesting object to
all my acquaintances were I distractedly in love with him, I cannot say
that I regret my comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes
be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to
heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet
open to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have
something to live on as well as the plain."