CHAPTER XL.
Elizabeth’s impatience to tell Jane could no longer be restrained. Resolving to suppress every particular concerning her sister and preparing her for surprise, she related the next morning the chief of the scene between herself and Mr. Darcy. Jane’s astonishment was lessened by sisterly partiality. She was sorry Darcy had delivered his sentiments in so unsuitable a manner, but grieved for the unhappiness her sister’s refusal must have given him. “His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,” said Jane, “but consider how much it must increase his disappointment.” Elizabeth replied she was heartily sorry for him, but he had other feelings that would soon drive away his regard for her.
Elizabeth then repeated the whole of Wickham’s portion of the letter—a stroke for Jane, whom Darcy’s vindication could not console for such a discovery. She laboured to prove the probability of error. “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.” Some time passed before a smile could be extorted. “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 opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind.”
Elizabeth then asked advice on whether to make their acquaintance understand Wickham’s character. Jane paused, then replied there could be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. Elizabeth agreed Darcy had not authorized her, and Wickham would soon be gone; it would not signify.
The tumult of Elizabeth’s mind was allayed; two secrets weighing on her for a fortnight were gone. But something still lurked behind, of which prudence forbade the disclosure: she dared not relate the other half of the letter nor explain how sincerely she had been valued by his friend. Settled at home, she observed Jane was not happy—she still cherished a tender affection for Bingley.
CHAPTER XLI.
The first week of their return was soon gone. The second began; it was the last of the regiment’s stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies drooped apace. Kitty and Lydia cried, “How can you be smiling so, Lizzy?” Their mother shared their grief, recalling how she had cried for two days when Colonel Miller’s regiment went away five-and-twenty years before.
But Lydia’s gloom was soon cleared: she received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the colonel’s young, lately married wife, to accompany her to Brighton. The rapture of Lydia, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty are scarcely to be described. To Elizabeth the invitation was the death-warrant of all common sense for Lydia. She secretly advised her father against it, representing the improprieties of Lydia’s general behaviour, the little advantage of Mrs. Forster’s friendship, and the greater temptations at Brighton. Mr. Bennet, affectionately taking her hand, replied that wherever she and Jane were known they must be respected; let her go—Colonel Forster was sensible and would keep her from real mischief, and she was too poor to be an object of prey. Elizabeth was forced to be content, but her own opinion continued the same.
She was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time. On the regiment’s final day, he dined with other officers at Longbourn. She mentioned that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy had both spent three weeks at Rosings, and asked if he were acquainted with the former. He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed, then recollected himself with a returning smile, said he had formerly seen him often, and that his manners were very different from his cousin’s. “Yes, very different; but I think Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance.” “Indeed!” cried Wickham, with a look which did not escape her.
When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton, to set out early next morning. The separation was noisy rather than pathetic; Kitty was the only one who shed tears, from vexation and envy.
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