Chapter 3
Mrs. Gardiner’s caution to Elizabeth was
punctually and kindly given on the first favourable opportunity of
speaking to her alone: after honestly telling her what she thought,
she thus went on:—
“You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in
love merely because you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am
not afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would have you be on
your guard. Do not involve yourself, or endeavour to involve him,
in an affection which the want of fortune would make so very
imprudent. I have nothing to say against him: he is a most
interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he ought to have,
I should think you could not do better. But as it is—you must not
let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all expect
you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolution
and good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your
father.”
“My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.”
“Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious
likewise.”
“Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I
will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be
in love with me, if I can prevent it.”
“Elizabeth, you are not serious now.”
“I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present I
am not in love with Mr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is,
beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw—and if he
becomes really attached to me—I believe it will be better that he
should not. I see the imprudence of it. Oh, that abominable
Mr. Darcy! My father’s opinion of me does me the greatest honour;
and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however, is
partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very
sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy; but since we
see every day that where there is affection young people are seldom
withheld, by immediate want of fortune, from entering into
engagements with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than so
many of my fellow-creatures, if I am tempted, or how am I even to
know that it would be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you,
therefore, is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to
believe myself his first object. When I am in company with him, I
will not be wishing. In short, I will do my best.”
“Perhaps it will be as well if you discourage his
coming here so very often. At least you should not remind
your mother of inviting him.”
“As I did the other day,” said Elizabeth, with a
conscious smile; “very true, it will be wise in me to refrain from
that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It
is on your account that he has been so frequently invited this
week. You know my mother’s ideas as to the necessity of constant
company for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try
to do what I think to be wisest; and now I hope you are
satisfied.”
Her aunt assured her that she was; and Elizabeth
having thanked her for the kindness of her hints, they parted,—a
wonderful instance of advice being given on such a point without
being resented.
Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after
it had been quitted by the Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up
his abode with the Lucases, his arrival was no great inconvenience
to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast approaching; and she was
at length so far resigned as to think it inevitable, and even
repeatedly to say, in an ill-natured tone, that she “wished
they might be happy.” Thursday was to be the wedding day, and on
Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit; and when she rose to
take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother’s ungracious and
reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, accompanied
her out of the room. As they went down stairs together, Charlotte
said,—
“I shall depend on hearing from you very often,
Eliza.”
“That you certainly shall.”
“And I have another favour to ask. Will you come
and see me?”
“We shall often meet, I hope, in
Hertfordshire.”
“I am not likely to leave Kent for some time.
Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford.”
Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw
little pleasure in the visit.
“My father and Maria are to come to me in March,”
added Charlotte, “and I hope you will consent to be of the party.
Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome to me as either of
them.”
The wedding took place: the bride and bridegroom
set off for Kent from the church door, and every body had as much
to say or to hear on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard
from her friend, and their correspondence was as regular and
frequent as it ever had been: that it should be equally unreserved
was impossible. Elizabeth could never address her without feeling
that all the comfort of intimacy was over; and, though determined
not to slacken as a correspondent, it was for the sake of what had
been rather than what was. Charlotte’s first letters were received
with a good deal of eagerness: there could not but be curiosity to
know how she would speak of her new home, how she would like Lady
Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce herself to be;
though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte
expressed herself on every point exactly as she might have
foreseen. She wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts,
and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house,
furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all to her taste, and
Lady Catherine’s behaviour was most friendly and obliging. It was
Mr. Collins’s picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened;
and Elizabeth perceived that she must wait for her own visit there,
to know the rest.
Jane had already written a few lines to her sister,
to announce their safe arrival in London; and when she wrote again,
Elizabeth hoped it would be in her power to say something of the
Bingleys.
Her impatience for this second letter was as well
rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town,
without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for
it, however, by supposing that her last letter to her friend from
Longbourn had by some accident been lost.
“My aunt,” she continued, “is going to-morrow into
that part of the town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling
in Grosvenor Street.”al
She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she
had seen Miss Bingley. “I did not think Caroline in spirits,” were
her words, “but she was very glad to see me, and reproached me for
giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was right,
therefore; my last letter had never reached her. I enquired after
their brother, of course. He was well, but so much engaged with Mr.
Darcy, that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was
expected to dinner: I wish I could see her. My visit was not long,
as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall soon
see them here.”
Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It
convinced her that accident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her
sister’s being in town.
Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of
him. She endeavoured to persuade herself that she did not regret
it; but she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley’s inattention.
After waiting at home every morning for a fortnight, and inventing
every evening a fresh excuse for her, the visitor did at last
appear; but the shortness of her stay, and, yet more, the
alteration of her manner, would allow Jane to deceive herself no
longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister
will prove what she felt.
“My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of
triumphing in her better judgment, at my expense, when I confess
myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley’s regard for
me. But, my dear sister, though the event has proved you right, do
not think me obstinate if I still assert, that, considering what
her behaviour was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion.I
do not at all comprehend her reason for wishing to be intimate with
me; but if the same circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I
should be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till
yesterday; and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the mean
time. When she did come, it was very evident that she had no
pleasure in it; she made a slight, formal apology for not calling
before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in
every respect so altered a creature, that when she went away I was
perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity,
though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me
out as she did; I can safely say, that every advance to intimacy
began on her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she
has been acting wrong, and because I am very sure that anxiety for
her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself farther;
and though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if
she feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me; and
so deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she may
feel on his behalf is natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder,
however, at her having any such fears now, because, if he had at
all cared about me, we must have met long, long ago. He knows of my
being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself; and
yet it would seem, by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to
persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot
understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be
almost tempted to say, that there is a strong appearance of
duplicity in all this. But I will endeavour to banish every painful
thought, and think only of what will make me happy, your affection,
and the invariable kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear
from you very soon. Miss Bingley said something of his never
returning to Netherfield again, of giving up the house, but not
with any certainty. We had better not mention it. I am extremely
glad that you have such pleasant accounts from our friends at
Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. I am
sure you will be very comfortable there.
“YOURS,” &C
This letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her
spirits returned as she considered that Jane would no longer be
duped, by the sister at least. All expectation from the brother was
now absolutely over. She would not even wish for any renewal of his
attentions. His character sunk on every review of it; and as a
punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, she
seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy’s sister, as,
by Wickham’s account, she would make him abundantly regret what he
had thrown away.
Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of
her promise concerning that gentleman, and required information;
and Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give contentment to
her aunt than to herself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his
attentions were over, he was the admirer of some one else.
Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, but she could see it
and write of it without material pain. Her heart had been but
slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that
she would have been his only choice, had fortune permitted
it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most
remarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now rendering
himself agreeable; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in
this case than in Charlotte’s, did not quarrel with him for his
wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more
natural; and while able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles
to relinquish her, she was ready to allow it a wise and desirable
measure for both, and could very sincerely wish him happy.
All this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and,
after relating the circumstances, she thus went on:—“I am now
convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love; for
had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should
at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil.
But my feelings are not only cordial towards him, they are
even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find out that I hate her
at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very
good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My
watchfulness has been effectual; and though I should certainly be a
more interesting object to all my acquaintance were I distractedly
in love with him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative
insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased too dearly.
Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to heart than I do.
They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet open to the
mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something
to live on, as well as the plain.”