189
man to whom she believed her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might injure her in
Darcy's opinion, and, perhaps, to remind the latter of all the follies and absurdities by which
some part of her family were connected with that corps. Not a syllable had ever reached her of
Miss Darcy's meditated elopement. To no creature had it been revealed, where secrecy was
possible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's connections her brother was particularly
anxious to conceal it, from the very wish which Elizabeth had long ago attributed to him, of their
becoming hereafter her own. He had certainly formed such a plan, and without meaning that it
should effect his endeavour to separate him from Miss Bennet, it is probable that it might add
something to his lively concern for the welfare of his friend.
Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon quieted his emotion; and as Miss Bingley, vexed
and disappointed, dared not approach nearer to Wickham, Georgiana also recovered in time,
though not enough to be able to speak any more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet,
scarcely recollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which had been designed
to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed to have fixed them on her more and more cheerfully.
Their visit did not continue long after the question and answer above mentioned; and while Mr.
Darcy was attending them to their carriage Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms
on Elizabeth's person, behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's
recommendation was enough to ensure her favour; his judgement could not err. And he had
spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her
otherwise than lovely and amiable. When Darcy returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not
help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to his sister.
"How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy," she cried; "I never in my life
saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa
and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again."
However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented himself with coolly
replying that he perceived no other alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous
consequence of travelling in the summer.
"For my own part," she rejoined, "I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her
face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her
nose wants character—there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of
the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never
190
see anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all;
and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable."
Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not the best method of
recommending herself; but angry people are not always wise; and in seeing him at last look
somewhat nettled, she had all the success she expected. He was resolutely silent, however, and,
from a determination of making him speak, she continued:
"I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she
was a reputed beauty; and I particularly recollect your saying one night, after they had been
dining at Netherfield, 'SHE a beauty!—I should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards
she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time."
"Yes," replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, "but THAT was only when I first
saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of
my acquaintances."
He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of having forced him to say
what gave no one any pain but herself.
Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their visit, as they returned,
except what had particularly interested them both. The look and behaviour of everybody they
had seen were discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention. They
talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit—of everything but himself; yet Elizabeth was
longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would have been highly
gratified by her niece's beginning the subject.
Chapter 46
Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Jane on their first arrival
at Lambton; and this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now
been spent there; but on the third her repining was over, and her sister justified, by the receipt of
two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been missent elsewhere.
Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.
They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and her uncle and aunt, leaving her
to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. The one missent must first be attended to; it had
been written five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their little parties and
191
engagements, with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated a day
later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect:
"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and
serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to
say relates to poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed,
from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers; to
own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so
wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing
to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can
easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. His choice
is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is
sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I that we never let them know what
has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about
twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was
sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster
gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their
intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be