by Janet Aylmer
8
The next day, the invalid kept to her bed but continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Miss Elizabeth Bennet joined the party in the drawing-room.
Darcy was writing, and thus continued, although he was very aware of her entering the room, and taking up some needlework.
Mr. Hurst and Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game. Miss Bingley, seated nearer to Darcy, had been watching the progress of his letter, and repeatedly disturbed him by calling his attention to her messages to his sister.
The perpetual commendations of the lady either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, formed a conversation that increasingly began to irritate Darcy.
“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”
He made no answer.
“You write uncommonly fast.”
He wrote two more lines before replying, “You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year! Letters of business too! How odious I should think them!”
Again he continued writing for some time before saying, “It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.”
He hoped that she would then desist, but it was not to be.
“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
He looked back at what he had already penned, and then said sharply, “I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
A few welcome minutes of silence then ensued. He even had some hopes that he might be able to finish the letter uninterrupted, and he paused, considering the last few sentences he had written. But Caroline Bingley’s voice was then again heard addressing him.
“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you.”
When he did not reply, she tried again.
“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.”
By this time, Darcy’s temper was rising, and it was with difficulty that he remained civil, especially as he would much rather be conversing with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“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?”
He began to wonder if there were any means by which Miss Bingley could be silenced.
“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,” she said.
“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?”
Darcy was relieved at another person joining in the conversation, and said, more cheerfully, “My style of writing is very different from yours.”
“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.”
“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents,” said her brother.
At this point, an interruption very welcome to Darcy was made, as Miss Elizabeth Bennet said, “Your humility, Mr. Bingley, must disarm reproof.”
“Nothing is more deceitful,” said Darcy, with the intention of provoking her, rather than his friend, to say more, “than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”
He was unsuccessful, for it was Bingley who said, “And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?”
With Miss Bennet’s attention still engaged, Darcy was ready for a debate.
“The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or any one else?”
After this, Darcy thought it certain that Miss Bennet’s lively mind would join her into the conversation. But Bingley was too quick.
“Nay,” he cried, “this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies.”
“I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity,” said Darcy. “Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, ‘Bingley, you had better stay till next week,’ you would probably do it, you would probably not go and, at another word, might stay a month.”
At last, this provoked Miss Elizabeth Bennet to join in the conversation.
“You have only proved by this, that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself.”
“I am exceedingly gratified,” said Bingley, “by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think the better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could.”
“Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?” Miss Bennet said to him.
“Upon my word I cannot exactly explain the matter, Darcy must speak for himself.”
“You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged,” said Darcy. “Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety.”
“To yield readily—easily—to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you.” She looked at Darcy thoughtfully.
“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either,” he replied to her.
“You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley.”
She paused as though to consider the matter further, and then went on, “We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon.”
He was about to reply, but then she turned to him with renewed inspiration.
“But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for comply
ing with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?”
“Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject,” said Darcy, “to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?”
“By all means,” interrupted Bingley; “let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference.”
Darcy was amused and was ready to respond with some humour. However, Bingley forestalled him.
“I declare, Miss Elizabeth, I do not know a more aweful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.”
Darcy knew himself to be looking affronted at this, and smiled rather wanly.
Miss Bingley intervened to join the conversation, in an expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense.
“I see your design, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike an argument, and want to silence this.”
“Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.”
“What you ask,” said Miss Elizabeth Bennet, “is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”
Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.
With that over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Miss Elizabeth Bennet for the indulgence of some music.
Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the piano-forte, and after a polite request that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would lead the way, which the other as politely and more earnestly resisted, she seated herself and sang with Mrs. Hurst.
Whilst they were thus employed, Darcy regarded Miss Elizabeth Bennet with a steady gaze.
Once or twice she looked up and caught his expression, and as quickly looked away again as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument. As the music continued, he was taken with what for him was a novel and irrational thought. He almost wished, yes indeed he did wish, to take a turn around the floor with her.
As though aware of his thoughts, after finishing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley changed the style of her music, and began to play a Scottish air.
Emboldened by this happy coincidence, Darcy said, “Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?”
She made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.
“Oh!” said she, “I heard you before; but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply.”
She gave him again that lively smile as she went on, “You wanted me, I know, to say ‘Yes,’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all and now despise me if you dare.”
He replied civilly, although he was disappointed out of proportion to the request.
“Indeed,” said Darcy, “I do not dare.”
Yet he did not resent the answer as he might have done, for there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner that made it difficult for her to affront him. Had Darcy been able to consider the matter dispassionately, he would have realised that he had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. But for the inferiority of her connections, he was of the opinion that he should be in some danger.
9
Miss Bingley was not unaware of Darcy’s interest in her guest. She was not of a disposition to overlook such a slight, and frequently sought to provoke Darcy by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.
“I hope,” said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the next day, “you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses.”
Darcy was not one to allow himself to be upset unless he particularly valued the opinion of the speaker. He took this attempt to challenge him calmly, as he did Miss Bingley’s next comment that Mrs. Bennet was a woman of mean understanding and uncertain temper, who might prove less than a worthy addition to his acquaintance.
“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?” he said.
“Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know; only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”
“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eye-lashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”
At that moment they were met from another walk, by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself.
“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “in running away without telling us that you were coming out.”
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Miss Elizabeth to walk by herself, as the path just admitted three.
Darcy resented this affront on her behalf and, not wishing to lose her company, said, “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”
And he waited for Miss Bennet to join them.
But she answered, with a smile,
“No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good bye.”
Contrary to Darcy’s preference, she then went off, and he was left to wish that he had different company from Miss Bingley, whose wit was so repetitive and often seemed to be at his own expense.
Miss Jane Bennet was already recovered enough to leave her room for a couple of hours that evening after dinner. Her sister attended her, well guarded from cold, into the drawing-room.
When the gentlemen entered, Darcy addressed himself directly to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and Bingley sat down by her.
Darcy, preferring the chance of conversation with Miss Elizabeth Bennet to playing with cards, had declined to join Mr. Hurst in his favourite pastime. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep.
Darcy took up a book, and so Miss Bingley did the same. Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother’s conversation with Miss Bennet.
Miss Bingley gave as much attention to watching Mr. Darcy’s progress through his book as to reading her own; and she was perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. He, however, had no intention of being persuaded into any conversation with her, and so limited himself to answering her questions, and then read on.
At length, she gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”
Darcy reflected to himself that she would not be an easy companion to any man, and no one made any reply.
She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in q
uest of some amusement. When her brother mentioned a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said, “By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party.”
Looking at his friend, she said, “I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”
“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins, but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards.”
“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied, “if they carried on in a different manner; but there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the day.”
If she had hoped to persuade Darcy to join in the conversation, she was not successful. Instead, her brother persisted.
“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball.”
Miss Bingley made no answer; and soon afterwards got up and walked about the room. Darcy continued his attention to his book.
After a while, she remarked, “Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.”
Darcy, looking up immediately, was awake to the novelty of attention for Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Caroline Bingley, and closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but declined, observing that he could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which his joining them would interfere.
“What could he mean?” said Caroline Bingley, and she asked Miss Elizabeth Bennet whether she could at all understand him.
“Not at all,” was her answer; “but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him, will be to ask nothing about it.”
