“Indeed I have, sir,” was her answer. “She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of it. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”
“Removed!” cried Bingley. “It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal.”
“You may depend upon it, Madam,” said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, “that Miss Bennet will receive every possible attention while she remains with us.”
Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments, before adding, “If it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I have ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over the gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease.”
“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” he replied honestly, “and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.”
“That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,” said Elizabeth.
“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” he asked happily, turning towards her.
“Oh, yes! I understand you perfectly.”
“I wish I might take this for a compliment, but I am afraid it is pitiful to be so easily seen through.”
“It does not follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.”
“Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner as you are inclined to do at home.”
“I did not know,” continued Bingley immediately, “that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing occupation.”
“Yes, but intricate characters are the most amusing.” She gave a pointed glance at Mr. Darcy. “They have at least that advantage.”
“The country,” said Darcy, “can in general supply but a few subjects for such a study. A country neighborhood is a very confined and unvarying society.”
“But people themselves alter so much,” Elizabeth said to the contrary, not that she so much believed it as she liked disagreeing with him. “There is something new to be observed in them forever.”
“Yes, indeed,” stated Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a country neighborhood. “I assure you there is quite as much going on in the country as in town.”
Everybody was surprised, and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment, turned silently away.
Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete victory over him, continued her triumph. “I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?”
“When I am in the country,” he replied, “I never wish to leave it. When I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.”
“Aye, that is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,” Mrs. Bennet looked at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”
“Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. It was one thing for her to debate Mr. Darcy, for she fancied herself more adapt at forming logical arguments, but quite another for her mother to do it. Not for the first time in her life she wished she could will the woman to be quiet. “You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in the town, which you must acknowledge to be true.”
“Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were, but as to not meeting with many people in this neighborhood, I believe there are few neighborhoods larger. We dine with four-and-twenty families.”
Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his countenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eyes towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother's thoughts, now asked her if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since her coming away.
“Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, is he not? So much the man of fashion, so genteel and easy! He always has something to say to everybody. That is my idea of good breeding. Those persons who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter.”
“Did Charlotte dine with you?” Elizabeth refused to look at Mr. Darcy, but could not help wonder at his silence. Perhaps he knew it was pointless to argue with a woman such as Mrs. Bennet. Or, perhaps, he felt the conversation was now beneath him and did not deign to rejoin it.
“No, she went home. I fancy she was needed to make the mince-pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, my daughters are brought up very differently. I always keep servants that can do their own work and they are never expected in the kitchen. But everybody is to judge for themselves how to raise their children, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome. Not that I think Charlotte so very plain, but then she is our particular friend.”
“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” Mr. Bingley offered.
“Oh, dear, yes,” Mrs. Bennet insisted, “but you must admit she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane — one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a man at my brother Gardiner's in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But, he did not. However, he wrote some verses on her, and they were very pretty.”
“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “There has been many a love, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love.”
“I believe many to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Darcy, turning his attention back to the conversation.
“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”
Darcy only smiled. The expression, directed solely at her, took her by surprise; and thus ended any further comment she would make on the subject. The general pause which ensued made Elizabeth tremble lest her mother should expose herself again. She longed to speak, but could think of nothing to say, and after a short silence Mrs. Bennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was unaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be civil also, and say what the occasion required. Miss Bingley performed her part without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the youngest of her daughters put herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and the result of it was, that the youngest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.
Lydia felt herself very equal to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball. She had high animal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the attention of the officers, to whom her uncle's good dinners, and her own easy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. “Have you settled on a date for your ball, Mr. Bingley? You will remember you promised to hold one here at Netherfield. All the neighbors have talked about it with such enthusiasm. It would be the most shameful thing in the world if you did not.”
His answer to this sudden a
ttack was delightful to Mrs. Bennet's ear. “I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement. When your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing when she is ill.”
Lydia declared herself satisfied. “Oh, yes! It would be much better to wait till Jane is well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter will be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball, I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not.”
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth returned instantly to Jane, leaving her and her relations' behavior to the remarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed on to join in their censure of her, in spite of all Miss Bingley's witticisms on fine eyes.
CHAPTER TEN
THE DAY PASSED MUCH AS THE DAY BEFORE had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who slowly continued to mend. In the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing room. The loo table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing. Miss Bingley took a seat near him to watch the progress of his letter. She repeatedly called off his attention by relaying messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.
Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and were exactly in union with her opinion of each.
“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter.”
He made no answer.
“You write uncommonly fast.”
“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year. Letters of business, too. How odious I should think them.”
“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.”
“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. 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.”
“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not the 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.”
“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.”
“That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” interrupted her brother, “because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?”
“My style of writing is very different from yours.”
“Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable,” said Miss Bingley. “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.”
“Your humility, Mr. Bingley, must disarm reproof,” said Elizabeth.
“Nothing is more deceitful,” said Darcy, “than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”
“And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?” Bingley asked.
“The indirect boast. 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 prized much 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 upon 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 so laudable in an instance which must leave necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else.”
“Nay,” cried Bingley, “this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honor, I believe what I said of myself to be true.”
“I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be as dependent on chance as that of any man I know. If, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, ‘Bingley, you had better stay till next week,’ you would probably not go, and at another word you might stay a month.”
Elizabeth watched Darcy carefully as he spoke, though he did not return the attention. He seemed to consider his letter, though his pen did not move over paper. To his back, she said, “Your statements have only proved that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off much more than he did himself.”
Bingley grinned. “I am exceedingly gratified by your converting what my friend said into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper, but I am afraid you are giving it a turn which Darcy by no means intended. He would certainly think better of me if, under such a circumstance, I were to give a flat denial and ride off as fast as I could.”
Elizabeth paused in her needlework. “Would Mr. Darcy consider the rashness of your original intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it.”
“Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter.”
Bingley gestured helplessly. “Darcy must speak for himself.”
“You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged.” Darcy turned from his letter. “Allowing the case to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who requested the delay of his plan asked without offering one argument as to why it should be so.”
“To yield easily to the persuasion of a friend has no merit with you?” Elizabeth set her needlework aside and did not bother to pick it back up.
“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either.”
“You 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 reasons. In general, 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 complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it.”
“Will it not be advisable, before we proceed, 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,” cried Bingley in obvious exasperation, “let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size. That will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you, if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference.”
Mr. Darcy smiled, but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly took up his defense by expressing her disapproval of 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 m
uch like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful. Then you may say whatever you like of me.”
Elizabeth thought this too bad, for she found she perversely enjoyed arguing with Mr. Darcy. He seemed of such a character to rise to the occasion without being easily offended. Such intellectual pursuits entertained Elizabeth, all the more so when she saw how they annoyed Miss Bingley.
“What you ask,” said Elizabeth, “is no sacrifice on my side. Mr. Darcy had better finish his letter.”
Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.
When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for an indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with some alacrity to the pianoforte; and, after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the way which the other as politely and more earnestly refused, she seated herself.
Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister. Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music-books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how she could be an object of admiration to so great a man, and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more strange. She could only imagine that she drew his notice because there was something more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, in her than in any other person present. The supposition did not pain her for she told herself that she liked him too little to care for his approbation. And yet, her eyes moved to his often to see if he still watched.
After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air. Soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her, “Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel.”
She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.
“Oh,” she said, “I heard you before, but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me to say ‘Yes,’ so you might have the pleasure of despising my taste. But I always delight in overthrowing those kinds 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.”
Pride and Prejudice: The Wild and Wanton Edition Page 7
