Elizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could
no longer be overcome; and at length, resolving to suppress every
particular in which her sister was concerned, and preparing her to be
surprised, she related to her the next morning the chief of the scene
between Mr. Darcy and herself.
Miss Bennet's astonishment was soon
lessened by the strong sisterly partiality which made any admiration of
Elizabeth appear perfectly natural; and all surprise was shortly lost
in other feelings. She was sorry that Mr. Darcy should have delivered
his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them; but still
more was she grieved for the unhappiness which her sister's refusal
must have given him.
"His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,"
said she, "and certainly ought not to have appeared; but consider how
much it must increase his disappointment!"
"Indeed," replied
Elizabeth, "I am heartily sorry for him; but he has other feelings,
which will probably soon drive away his regard for me. You do not blame
me, however, for refusing him?"
"Blame you! Oh, no."
"But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?"
"No--I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did."
"But you _will_ know it, when I tell you what happened the very next day."
She
then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents as far as
they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was this for poor Jane!
who would willingly have gone through the world without believing that
so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was here
collected in one individual. Nor was Darcy's vindication, though
grateful to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery.
Most earnestly did she labour to prove the probability of error, and
seek to clear the one without involving the other.
"This will not
do," said Elizabeth; "you never will be able to make both of them good
for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one.
There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just enough to make
one good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting about pretty
much. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Darcy's; but you
shall do as you choose."
It was some time, however, before a smile could be extorted from Jane.
"I
do not know when I have been more shocked," said she. "Wickham so very
bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only
consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the
knowledge of your ill opinion, too! and having to relate such a thing
of his sister! It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it
so."
"Oh! no, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing
you so full of both. I know you will do him such ample justice, that I
am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion
makes me saving; and if you lament over him much longer, my heart will
be as light as a feather."
"Poor Wickham! there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner!"
"There
certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those two
young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the
appearance of it."
"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the _appearance_ of it as you used to do."
"And
yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike to
him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's genius, such an
opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind. One may be continually
abusive without saying anything just; but one cannot always be laughing
at a man without now and then stumbling on something witty."
"Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now."
"Indeed,
I could not. I was uncomfortable enough, I may say unhappy. And with no
one to speak to about what I felt, no Jane to comfort me and say that I
had not been so very weak and vain and nonsensical as I knew I had! Oh!
how I wanted you!"
"How unfortunate that you should have used
such very strong expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for
now they _do_ appear wholly undeserved."
"Certainly. But the
misfortune of speaking with bitterness is a most natural consequence of
the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point on which I
want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to
make our acquaintances in general understand Wickham's character."
Miss
Bennet paused a little, and then replied, "Surely there can be no
occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your opinion?"
"That
it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not authorised me to make
his communication public. On the contrary, every particular relative to
his sister was meant to be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I
endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will
believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that
it would be the death of half the good people in Meryton to attempt to
place him in an amiable light. I am not equal to it. Wickham will soon
be gone; and therefore it will not signify to anyone here what he really
is. Some time hence it will be all found out, and then we may laugh at
their stupidity in not knowing it before. At present I will say nothing
about it."
"You are quite right. To have his errors made public
might ruin him for ever. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done,
and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him
desperate."
The tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by this
conversation. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on
her for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing listener in Jane,
whenever she might wish to talk again of either. But there was still
something lurking behind, of which prudence forbade the disclosure. She
dared not relate the other half of Mr. Darcy's letter, nor explain to
her sister how sincerely she had been valued by her friend. Here was
knowledge in which no one could partake; and she was sensible that
nothing less than a perfect understanding between the parties could
justify her in throwing off this last encumbrance of mystery. "And
then," said she, "if that very improbable event should ever take place, I
shall merely be able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much more
agreeable manner himself. The liberty of communication cannot be mine
till it has lost all its value!"
She was now, on being settled at
home, at leisure to observe the real state of her sister's spirits. Jane
was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley.
Having never even fancied herself in love before, her regard had all
the warmth of first attachment, and, from her age and disposition,
greater steadiness than most first attachments often boast; and so
fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every other
man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feelings of
her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets
which must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.
"Well,
Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet one day, "what is your opinion _now_ of this
sad business of Jane's? For my part, I am determined never to speak of
it again to anybody. I told my sister Phillips so the other day. But I
cannot find out that Jane saw anything of him in London. Well, he is a
very undeserving young man--and I do not suppose there's the least
chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his
coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have inquired of
everybody, too, who is likely to know."
"I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield any more."
"Oh
well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. Though I
shall always say he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, I
would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will
die of a broken heart; and then he will be sorry for what he has done."
But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such expectation, she made no answer.
"Well,
Lizzy," continued her mother, soon afterwards, "and so the Collinses
live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it will last.
And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I
dare say. If she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving enough.
There is nothing extravagant in _their_ housekeeping, I dare say."
"No, nothing at all."
"A
great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes. _they_ will
take care not to outrun their income. _They_ will never be distressed
for money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often
talk of having Longbourn when your father is dead. They look upon it as
quite their own, I dare say, whenever that happens."
"It was a subject which they could not mention before me."
"No;
it would have been strange if they had; but I make no doubt they often
talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy with an estate
that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. I should be ashamed
of having one that was only entailed on me." _