future situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go somewhere, but he did not
know where, and he knew he should have nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had
not married your sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich, he would
have been able to do something for him, and his situation must have been benefited by marriage.
But he found, in reply to this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more effectually
making his fortune by marriage in some other country. Under such circumstances, however, he
was not likely to be proof against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times, for
there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more than he could get; but at
length was reduced to be reasonable. Every thing being settled between THEM, Mr. Darcy's next
step was to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch street the
evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on
further inquiry, that your father was still with him, but would quit town the next morning. He did
not judge your father to be a person whom he could so properly consult as your uncle, and
therefore readily postponed seeing him till after the departure of the former. He did not leave his
name, and till the next day it was only known that a gentleman had called on business. On
Saturday he came again. Your father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and then I saw him too. It was not
all settled before Monday: as soon as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our
visitor was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character, after
all. He has been accused of many faults at different times, but THIS is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do not speak it to be thanked,
therefore say nothing about it), your uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They
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battled it together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman or lady concerned
in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of
use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it, which went
sorely against the grain; and I really believe your letter this morning gave him great pleasure,
because it required an explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give the
praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther than yourself, or Jane at most. You
know pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds, another thousand in addition
to her own settled upon HER, and his commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be
done by him alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his reserve and want
of proper consideration, that Wickham's character had been so misunderstood, and consequently
that he had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in THIS; though I
doubt whether HIS reserve, or ANYBODY'S reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in
spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured that your uncle would
never have yielded, if we had not given him credit for ANOTHER INTEREST in the affair.
When all this was resolved on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more when the wedding took
place, and all money matters were then to receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you
every thing. It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I hope at least it will
not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to us; and Wickham had constant admission to the
house. HE was exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I would not tell
you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour while she staid with us, if I had not perceived,
by Jane's letter last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a piece with it,
and therefore what I now tell you can give you no fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the
most serious manner, representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and all the
unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me, it was by good luck, for I am sure
she did not listen. I was sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth and
Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was punctual in his return, and as
Lydia informed you, attended the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town
again on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this
opportunity of saying (what I was never bold enough to say before) how much I like him. His
behaviour to us has, in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire. His
understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but a little more liveliness, and
THAT, if he marry PRUDENTLY, his wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly
ever mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive me if I have been very
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presuming, or at least do not punish me so far as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite
happy till I have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little pair of ponies, would
be the very thing. But I must write no more. The children have been wanting me this half hour.
Yours, very sincerely,
"M. GARDINER."
The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to
determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions
which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's
match, which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable,
and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their
greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all
the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been
necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet,
frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished
to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a
girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her.
But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity
was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her —for a woman who had
already refused him—as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against
relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from
the connection. He had, to be sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had