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Chapter 40
Elizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane
with what had happened could no longer be overcome; and at length,
resolving to
suppress every particular in which her sister was concerned, and
preparing her
to be surprised, she related to her the next morning the chief of the
scene
between Mr. Darcy and herself.
Miss Bennet's
astonishment was soon
lessened by the strong sisterly partiality which made any admiration of
Elizabeth
appear
perfectly natural; and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. She was sorry that Mr.
Darcy should have
delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend
them; but
still more was she grieved for the unhappiness which her sister's
refusal must
have given him.
"His being so sure of
succeeding
was wrong," said she, "and certainly ought not to have appeared; but
consider how much it must increase his disappointment!"
"Indeed," replied Elizabeth,
"I am
heartily sorry for him; but he has other feelings, which will probably
soon
drive away his regard for me. You
do not
blame me, however, for refusing him?"
"Blame you! Oh, no."
"But you blame me for
having spoken
so warmly of Wickham?"
"No-- I do not know that
you were
wrong in saying what you did."
"But you will know it,
when I tell
you what happened the very next day."
She then spoke of the
letter, repeating
the whole of its contents as far as they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was this for
poor Jane! who
would willingly have gone through the world without believing that so
much
wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was here collected
in one
individual. Nor was Darcy's vindication, though grateful to her
feelings, capable
of consoling her for such discovery.
Most earnestly did she labour to prove the
probability of error, and seek to clear the one without involving the
other.
"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. There
is but such a
quantity of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of
man; and
of late it has been shifting about pretty much.
For my part, I am inclined to believe it all
Darcy's; but you shall do
as you choose."
It was some time,
however, before a
smile could be extorted from Jane.
"I do not know when I
have been
more shocked," said she. "Wickham so very bad!
It is almost past belief.
And poor Mr. Darcy!
Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have
suffered. Such a disappointment! and
with the knowledge of your ill opinion, too! and having to relate such
a thing
of his sister! It
is really too
distressing. I am
sure you must feel it
so."
"Oh! no, my regret and
compassion
are all done away by seeing you so full of both.
I know you will do him such ample justice,
that I am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion makes me
saving; and if you
lament over him much longer, my heart will be as light as a feather."
"Poor Wickham! there is
such an
expression of goodness in his countenance! such an openness and
gentleness in
his manner!"
"There certainly was
some great
mismanagement in the education of those two young men.
One has got all the goodness, and the other
all the appearance of it."
"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. One may be continually
abusive
without saying anything just; but one cannot always be laughing at a
man
without now and then stumbling on something witty."
"Lizzy, when you first
read that
letter, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now."
"Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable
enough, I may say
unhappy. And with
no one to speak to
about what I felt, no Jane to comfort me and say that I had not been so
very
weak and vain and nonsensical as I knew I had!
Oh! how I wanted you!"
"How unfortunate that
you should
have used such very strong expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr.
Darcy, for
now they do appear wholly undeserved."
"Certainly. But the misfortune of
speaking with
bitterness is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been
encouraging. There
is one point on which
I want your advice. I
want to be told
whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general
understand
Wickham's character."
Miss Bennet paused a
little, and then
replied, "Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so
dreadfully. What is
your opinion?"
"That it ought not to be
attempted. Mr.
Darcy has not authorised
me to make his communication public.
On
the contrary, every particular relative to his sister was meant to be
kept as much
as possible to myself; and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the
rest of
his conduct, who will believe me?
The
general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that it would be the
death
of half the good people in Meryton to attempt to place him in an
amiable
light. I am not
equal to it. Wickham
will soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify to anyone here
what he
really is. Some
time hence it will be
all found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing
it
before. At present
I will say nothing
about it."
"You are quite right. To have his errors made
public might ruin him
for ever. He is
now, perhaps, sorry for
what he has done, and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him
desperate."
The tumult of Elizabeth's
mind was allayed by this
conversation. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed
on her
for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing listener in Jane,
whenever she
might wish to talk again of either.
But
there was still something lurking behind, of which prudence forbade the disclosure. She dared not relate the
other half of Mr. Darcy's
letter, nor explain
to her sister how sincerely she had been valued by her friend. Here was knowledge in
which no one could
partake; and she was sensible that nothing less than a perfect
understanding
between the parties could justify her in throwing off this last
encumbrance of
mystery. "And
then," said she,
"if that very improbable event should ever take place, I shall merely
be
able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much more agreeable manner
himself. The
liberty of communication
cannot be mine till it has lost all its value!"
She was now, on being
settled at home,
at leisure to observe the real state of her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very
tender affection
for Bingley. Having
never even fancied
herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first
attachment, and,
from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than most first
attachments
often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer
him to
every other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the
feelings
of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets
which
must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.
"Well, Lizzy," said Mrs.
Bennet one day, "what is your opinion now of this sad business of
Jane's? For my
part, I am determined
never to speak of it again to anybody.
I
told my sister Phillips so the other day.
But I cannot find out that Jane saw anything of him
in London. Well, he is a very
undeserving young man-- and I do
not suppose there's
the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his
coming to Netherfield
again in the summer; and I have inquired of everybody, too, who is
likely to
know."
"I do not believe he
will ever live
at Netherfield any more."
"Oh well! it is just as
he
chooses. Nobody
wants him to come.
Though I shall always say he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I
was her,
I would not have put up with it. Well,
my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart; and then he
will be
sorry for what he has done."
But as Elizabeth
could not receive comfort from any
such expectation, she made no answer.
"Well, Lizzy," continued
her
mother, soon afterwards, "and so the
Collinses live very comfortable, do they?
Well, well, I only hope it
will last. And what
sort of table do they keep? Charlotte
is an excellent manager, I dare say.
If
she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing
extravagant in their
housekeeping, I dare say."
"No, nothing at all."
"A great deal of good
management,
depend upon it. Yes,
yes. They will take
care not to outrun their income. They
will never be distressed for money.
Well, much good may it do them!
And so, I suppose, they often talk of having
Longbourn when your father
is dead. They look
upon it as quite
their own, I dare say, whenever that happens."
"It was a subject which
they could
not mention before me."
"No; it would have been
strange if
they had; but I make no doubt they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy
with an estate that
is not lawfully their own, so much the better.
I should be ashamed of having one that was only
entailed on me."
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