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 relat-
ed 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 par-
tiality 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 collect-
ed 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 with-
out 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 counte-
nance! 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 open-
ing 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 expres-
sions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now theydo appear wholly
undeserved."
"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness is a most natur-
al 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 oc-
casion 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 en-
deavour 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 there-
fore 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 know-
ing 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-es-
tablish 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 pru-
dence forbade the disclosure. She dared not relate the other half of Mr. Dar-
cy'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 man-
ner 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 disposi-
tion, greater steadiness than most first attachments often boast; and so fer-
vently 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 unde-
serving 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 Nether-
field 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 mon-
ey. 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."
