Chapter 5
Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family
with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas
had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had made a
tolerable fortune, and risen to the honour of knighthood by an
address to the king during his mayoralty.3 The
distinction had, perhaps, been felt too strongly. It had given him
a disgust to his business and to his residence in a small market
town; and, quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a
house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas
Lodge; where he could think with pleasure of his own importance,
and, unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil
to all the world. For though elated by his rank, it did not render
him supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to
everybody. By nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his
presentation at St. James’s had made him courteous.
Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too
clever to be a valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several
children. The eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman,
about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth’s intimate friend.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should
meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning
after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to
communicate.
“You began the evening well, Charlotte,”
said Mrs. Bennet, with civil self-command, to Miss Lucas.
“You were Mr. Bingley’s first choice.”
“Yes; but he seemed to like his second
better.”
“Oh, you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced
with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if he admired
her— indeed, I rather believe he did—I heard something about
it—but I hardly know what—something about Mr. Robinson.”
“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and
Mr. Robinson: did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson’s asking
him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not
think there were a great many pretty women in the room, and
which he thought the prettiest? and his answering
immediately to the last question, Oh, the eldest Miss Bennet,
beyond a doubt: there cannot be two opinions on that point.”
“Upon my word! Well, that was very decided,
indeed—that does seem as if—but, however, it may all come to
nothing, you know.”
“My overhearings were more to the purpose
than yours, Eliza,” said Charlotte. “Mr. Darcy is not so
well worth listening to as his friend, is he? Poor Eliza! to be
only just tolerable.”
“I beg you will not put it into Lizzy’s head to be
vexed by his ill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man that
it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told
me last night that he sat close to her for half an hour without
once opening his lips.”
“Are you quite sure, ma’am? Is not there a little
mistake?” said Jane. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to
her.”
“Ay, because she asked him at last how he liked
Netherfield, and he could not help answering her; but she said he
seemed very angry at being spoke to.”
“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never
speaks much unless among his intimate acquaintance. With
them he is remarkably agreeable.”
“I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had
been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I
can guess how it was; every body says that he is ate up with pride,
and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a
carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise.”g
“I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,” said
Miss Lucas, “but I wish he had danced with Eliza.”
“Another time, Lizzy,” said her mother, “I would
not dance with him, if I were you.”
“I believe, ma’am, I may safely promise you
never to dance with him.”
“His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend me
so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One
cannot wonder that so very fine a young man with family, fortune,
every thing in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may
so express it, he has a right to be proud.”
“That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I
could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified
mine.”
“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the
solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe.
By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common
indeed, that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that
there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of
self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or
imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words
are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being
vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity to
what we would have others think of us.”
“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young
Lucas, who came with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I
was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine
every day.”
“Then you would drink a great deal more than you
ought,” said Mrs. Bennet; “and if I were to see you at it, I should
take away your bottle directly.”
The boy protested that she should not; she
continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only
with the visit.