Jane Austin - Pride and Prejudice

eyes towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth,

for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother’s

thoughts, now asked her if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn

since _her_ coming away.

“Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man

Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, is not he? So much the man of

fashion! So genteel and easy! He has always something to say to

everybody. _That_ is my idea of good breeding; and those persons

who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths,

quite mistake the matter.”

“Did Charlotte dine with you?”

“No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the

mince-pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, _I_ always keep servants

that can do their own work; _my_ daughters are brought up very

differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the

Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity

they are not handsome! Not that _I_ think Charlotte so _very_

plain—but then she is our particular friend.”

“She seems a very pleasant young woman.”

“Oh! dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas

herself has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not

like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane—one does not

often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do

not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was

a man at my brother Gardiner’s in town so much in love with her

that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before

we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her

too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty

they were.”

“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “There

has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder

who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away

love!”

“I have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love,” said

Darcy.

“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what

is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of

inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it

entirely away.”

Darcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made

Elizabeth tremble lest her mother should be exposing herself

again. She longed to speak, but could think of nothing to say;

and after a short silence Mrs. Bennet began repeating her thanks

to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane, with an apology for

troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was unaffectedly civil

in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be civil also,

and say what the occasion required. She performed her part indeed

without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and

soon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the

youngest of her daughters put herself forward. The two girls had

been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and the

result of it was, that the youngest should tax Mr. Bingley with

having promised on his first coming into the country to give a

ball at Netherfield.

Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine

complexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her

mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early

age. She had high animal spirits, and a sort of natural

self-consequence, which the attention of the officers, to whom

her uncle’s good dinners, and her own easy manners recommended

her, had increased into assurance. She was very equal, therefore,

to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and abruptly

reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be the most

shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer to

this sudden attack was delightful to their mother’s ear:

“I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and

when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the

very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing when

she is ill.”

Lydia declared herself satisfied. “Oh! yes—it would be much

better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely

Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given

_your_ ball,” she added, “I shall insist on their giving one

also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he

does not.”

Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth

returned instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations’

behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the

latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed on to join in

their censure of _her_, in spite of all Miss Bingley’s witticisms

on _fine eyes_.

The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and

Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the

invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the

evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. The

loo-table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and

Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his

letter and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to

his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs.

Hurst was observing their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in

attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The

perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting,

or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter,

with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received,

formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in union with her

opinion of each.

“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

He made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course

of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think

them!”

“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of

yours.”

“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”

“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”

“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I

mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you—but I always mend my own.”

“How can you contrive to write so even?”

He was silent.

“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on

the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with

her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it

infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”

“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write

again? At present I have not room to do them justice.”

“Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do

you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”

“They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not

for me to determine.”

“It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter

with ease, cannot write ill.”

“That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” cried her

brother, “because he does _not_ write with ease. He studies too

much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?”

“My style of writing is very different from yours.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless