“Are you quite sure, ma'am? Is not there a little mistake?” inquired Jane. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”
“Aye, because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield. He could not help answering her, but she said he seemed quite angry at being spoken to.”
“Miss Bingley told me that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate acquaintances,” Jane said. “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. Everybody says that he is eat up with pride. I daresay he heard Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise.”
“I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,” said Charlotte, “but I wish he had danced with Eliza.”
“I say again, Lizzy,” instructed 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.” Elizabeth assured herself she meant every word. Though, whenever she thought of the disagreeable man, she thought of that smile he bestowed on Mr. Bingley, and could not help but remember how she felt in those first moments of introduction, and of all the things she imagined him to be. A dull ache centered in her chest as she longed for that fictional ideal. If only she could find all of those fine qualities in one man.
“His pride,” said Charlotte, “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, everything in his favor, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud.”
“That is very true,” Elizabeth replied, “and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not offended 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. Human nature is particularly prone to it, and 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,” said 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 a day.”
“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” scolded 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.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE LADIES OF LONGBOURN soon waited on those of Netherfield, and the visit was returned in due form. Miss Bennet's pleasing manners grew on the goodwill of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, even though the mother was found to be intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth speaking to, a wish to be better acquainted was expressed towards the two eldest. By Jane, this attention was received with the greatest pleasure, but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in their treatment of everybody, hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them. Though their kindness to Jane, such as it was, arose in all probability from the influence of their brother's admiration.
It was generally evident whenever they met that Mr. Bingley did admire Jane. To Elizabeth it was equally evident that her sister was yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a way to be very much in love. Elizabeth considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane united, with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of manner which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to Charlotte.
“It may perhaps be pleasant to be able to impose on the public in such a case,” replied Charlotte, “but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him. It will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. We can all begin freely, a slight preference is natural enough, but there are very few of us who have heart to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a women had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly, but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.”
“But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too.”
“Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do.”
“But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavor to conceal it, he must find it out.”
“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But, though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and, as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”
“Your plan is a good one,” replied Elizabeth, “where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I daresay I should adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings. She is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton, she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character.”
“Not as you represent it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite, but you must remember that four evenings have also been spent together — and four evenings may do a great deal.”
“Yes. These four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingtun better than Commerce, but with respect to any other leading characteristic I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.”
“Well,” Charlotte mused, “I wish Jane success with all my heart. If she were married to him tomorrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation. It is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”
“You make me laugh, Charlotte, but you know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself.” Elizabeth lowered her voice to ensure they were not overheard. “You speak of felicity and growing vexation, but you say nothing of passion. Should not a woman know her feelings before she marries? Should not she at least enter the marriage with more than a probability of love? Do you not want passion with your husband? Romance? Do you not wish to be swept away in emotion, and feel your heart race every time he looks at you?”
“Eliza, you speak like you are a character in one of those silly novels, but I suspect you know as well as I that a probability of love is all many can hope for. Those who are swept away, as you so put it, often find themselves the victim of their own stupidity and keepers of a ruined reputation. I am a practical woman and I would consider myself lucky to have that much, but when I marry it will be a practical matter, and for a good and comfortable home. I have given up on passion. I would advise you to do the same, but I know that you will not.”
Occup
ied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty, and had looked at her without admiration at the ball. When they next met, he looked at her only to criticize. Yet this did not erase the haunting memories he had unintentionally created in imagining her as his lover. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying.
Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. He found her delicate flaws more attractive than that of perfection, for they added a realism and charm difficult to render by even the most competent of artists. The more he looked, the more he found reason to keep looking, and the unfolding realizations only added tinder to the fire smoldering beneath his flesh. Darcy prided himself on his good sense, and the constant drifting of his mind to matters of a sordid nature only served to exasperate him.
One night at Sir William Lucas's, where a large party had been assembled, he found himself again thinking about her to the point of distraction. With what had become a late night routine fixed firmly in his mind, he began to wish to know more of Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps it was the lack of entertainment in the country, or that of refined company, but he found his thoughts preoccupied with catching a glimpse of her. He followed her progress around the room with his eyes, never looking for too long, waiting for the perfect moment to move closer. She laughed often, smiling gaily as she addressed friends. Her manners were too relaxed to be proper, but in an infectious way that captivated. Finally, as a step towards conversing with her himself, he attended to her conversation with others. His doing so drew her notice.
Of his thoughts Elizabeth was perfectly unaware. To her he was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with. Or, rather, that is what she told herself on the matter. He was a proud and disagreeable man, without doubt, but that did not stop her from noticing the blue of his eyes or the subtle, yet brief, drumming of his long fingers against his outer thigh. The movement was only one in a perfected ritual that was Mr. Darcy. Each bow of the head, each proud lift of the chin, each cutting glance of the eyes, had been bred into him from boyhood, as much a part of his character as breathing.
“What does Mr. Darcy mean,” Elizabeth whispered to Charlotte, “by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster.”
“That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.”
“But if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.”
On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have any intention of speaking, Charlotte defied her friend to mention such a subject to him. This immediately provoked Elizabeth to do it, and she turned to him. “Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton.”
“With great energy, but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic.”
“You are severe on us.” Elizabeth shot her friend an impish look and tried not to laugh. When she again looked at the gentleman, she had managed to compose her face.
“It will soon be her turn to be teased,” said Charlotte. “I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.”
“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend — always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable. As it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.”
On Charlotte's insistence, however, she added, “Very well, if it must be so, it must.”
“I am sure your talent is adequate,” Mr. Darcy allowed.
Elizabeth was taken by surprise by the half-compliment, so did not acknowledge it. Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, and was always impatient for display.
Mary had neither genius nor taste, and though vanity had given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well. Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by then performing Scotch and Irish airs at the request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.
Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbor, till Sir William thus began, “What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”
“Certainly, sir. It has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.”
Sir William only smiled. “Your friend performs delightfully,” he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group, “and I doubt not that you are adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.”
“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.” He glanced over the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth.
“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St. James's?”
“Never, sir.”
“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place.”
“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”
“You have a house in town, I conclude.”
Mr. Darcy bowed.
“I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself, for I am fond of superior society, but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.” He paused in hopes of an answer, but his companion was not disposed to make any. Elizabeth at that instant was moving towards them, and he was struck with the action of doing a very gallant thing. “My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. I am sure you cannot refuse to dance when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back.
With some discomposure to Sir William, she said, “Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing.”
“You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza,” insisted Sir William, “that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you. Though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.”
“I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner,” Elizabeth said. Unable to help herself, she added mischievously, “I would not have Mr. Darcy tempted into an amusement he finds merely tolerable.”
The words drew a small reaction from Mr. Darcy, but she merely smiled politely and pretended not to notice the subtle reference to his slight upon her character. When Sir William looked expectantly at the gentleman in qu
estion, Mr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honor of her hand. It was in vain for Elizabeth was determined.
“Mr. Darcy is all politeness.” Elizabeth smiled in earnest now that she knew her clever barb had been well placed. Let the prideful man know his remark had been heard, remembered, and that she was unaffected by it.
“He is, indeed,” Sir William agreed, “but, considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance — for who would object to such a partner.”
Sir William did not shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.
Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured her with the gentleman, and Mr. Darcy was thinking of her with some complacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley, “I can guess the subject of your reverie.”
“I should imagine not.”
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner, in such society, and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed. The insipidity, and yet the noise — the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people. What I would give to hear your strictures on them.”
“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”
Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections.
Mr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. She was hard pressed to hide her amusement. “I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favorite? And pray, when am I to wish you joy.”
“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid. It jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.”
Pride and Prejudice: The Wild and Wanton Edition Page 4
