stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping apace. The
dejection was almost universal. The elder Miss Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink, and
sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached
for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not
comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.
"Good Heaven! what is to become of us? What are we to do?" would they often exclaiming the
bitterness of woe. "How can you be smiling so, Lizzy?"
Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what she had herself endured on
a similar occasion, five-and-twenty years ago.
"I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when Colonel Miller's regiment went away. I
thought I should have broken my heart."
"I am sure I shall break MINE," said Lydia.
"If one could but go to Brighton!" observed Mrs. Bennet.
"Oh, yes!—if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable."
"A little sea-bathing would set me up forever."
"And my aunt Phillips is sure it would do ME a great deal of good," added Kitty.
Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through Longbourn House. Elizabeth
tried to be diverted by them; but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice
of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never had she been so much disposed to pardon his interference in
the views of his friend.
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But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared away; for she received an invitation from
Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This
invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good
humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their THREE
months' acquaintance they had been intimate TWO.
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet,
and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's
feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone's congratulations,
and laughing and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the
parlour repined at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.
"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask ME as well as Lydia," said she, "Though I am
NOT her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I
am two years older."
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane to make her resigned. As for
Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her
mother and Lydia, that she considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of common sense
for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she could not help
secretly advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of
Lydia's general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a
woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a
companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home. He heard her
attentively, and then said:
"Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can
never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the
present circumstances."
"If you were aware," said Elizabeth, "of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise
from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner—nay, which has already
arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the affair."
"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Bennet. "What, has she frightened away some of your lovers?
Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be
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connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of pitiful
fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia's folly."
"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not of particular, but of general
evils, which I am now complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world must be
affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia's
character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble of
checking her exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the
business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be
fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family
ridiculous; a flirt, too, in the worst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction
beyond youth and a tolerable person; and, from the ignorance and emptiness of her mind, wholly
unable to ward off any portion of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will
excite. In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain,
ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh! my dear father, can you suppose it possible that
they will not be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their sisters will not be
often involved in the disgrace?"
Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject, and affectionately taking her hand said
in reply:
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known you must be
respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of—or I may
say, three—very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to
Brighton. Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real
mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody. At Brighton she will be
of less importance even as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find women
better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being there may teach her her own
insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorising us to lock
her up for the rest of her life."
With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion continued the same,
and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not in her nature, however, to increase her
vexations by dwelling on them. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over
unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her disposition.
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Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference with her father, their
indignation would hardly have found expression in their united volubility. In Lydia's