CHAPTER LV.

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A few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His

friend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in

ten days’ time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably

good spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them; but, with many

expressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.

“Next time you call,” said she, “I hope we shall be more lucky.”

He should be particularly happy at any time, etc., etc.; and if she

would give him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on

them.

“Can you come to-morrow?”

Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation was

accepted with alacrity.

He came, and in such very good time, that the ladies were none of them

dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughters’ room, in her

dressing-gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out,--

“My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come--Mr. Bingley is

come. He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss

Bennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss

Lizzy’s hair.”

“We will be down as soon as we can,” said Jane; “but I dare say Kitty is

forwarder than either of us, for she went upstairs half an hour ago.”

“Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come, be quick, be quick!

where is your sash, my dear?”

But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down

without one of her sisters.

The same anxiety to get them by themselves was visible again in the

evening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his

custom, and Mary went upstairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of the

five being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at

Elizabeth and Catherine for a considerable time, without making any

impression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; and when at last

Kitty did, she very innocently said, “What is the matter, mamma? What do

you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?”

“Nothing, child, nothing. I did not wink at you.” She then sat still

five minutes longer; but unable to waste such a precious occasion, she

suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty,--

“Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,” took her out of the room.

Jane instantly gave a look at Elizabeth which spoke her distress at such

premeditation, and her entreaty that _she_ would not give in to it. In a

few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out,--

“Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.”

Elizabeth was forced to go.

“We may as well leave them by themselves, you know,” said her mother as

soon as she was in the hall. “Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in

my dressing-room.”

Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained

quietly in the hall till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned

into the drawing-room.

Mrs. Bennet’s schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was

everything that was charming, except the professed lover of her

daughter. His ease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable

addition to their evening party; and he bore with the ill-judged

officiousness of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a

forbearance and command of countenance particularly grateful to the

daughter.

He scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went away

an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs. Bennet’s

means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.

After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed

between the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bed in the

happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy

returned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably

persuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman’s

concurrence.

Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent the

morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more

agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption

or folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into

silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric, than the

other had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with him to dinner;

and in the evening Mrs. Bennet’s invention was again at work to get

everybody away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter to

write, went into the breakfast-room for that purpose soon after tea; for

as the others were all going to sit down to cards, she could not be

wanted to counteract her mother’s schemes.

But on her returning to the drawing-room, when her letter was finished,

she saw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her

mother had been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, she

perceived her sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as

if engaged in earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion,

the faces of both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each

other, would have told it all. _Their_ situation was awkward enough; but

_hers_ she thought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by

either; and Elizabeth was on the point of going away again, when

Bingley, who as well as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and,

whispering a few words to her sister, ran out of the room.

Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give

pleasure; and, instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest

emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.

“’Tis too much!” she added, “by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh,

why is not everybody as happy?”

Elizabeth’s congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a

delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of

kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would not

allow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to be

said, for the present.

“I must go instantly to my mother,” she cried. “I would not on any

account trifle with her affectionate solicitude, or allow her to hear it

from anyone but myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh, Lizzy, to

know that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear

family! how shall I bear so much happiness?”

She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the

card-party, and was sitting upstairs with Kitty.

Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease

with which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many

previous months of suspense and vexation.

“And this,” said she, “is the end of all his friend’s anxious

circumspection! of all his sister’s falsehood and contrivance! the

happiest, wisest, and most reasonable end!”

In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose conference with her

father had been short and to the purpose.

“Where is your sister?” said he hastily, as he opened the door.

“With my mother upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare say.”

He then shut the door, and, coming up to her, claimed the good wishes

and affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed her

delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with

great cordiality; and then, till her sister came down, she had to listen

to all he had to say of his own happiness, and of Jane’s perfections;

and in spite of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his

expectations of felicity to be rationally founded, because they had for

basis the excellent understanding and super-excellent disposition of

Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and

himself.

It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of

Miss Bennet’s mind gave such a glow of sweet animation to her face, as

made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped

her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent, or

speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings,

though she talked to Bingley of nothing else, for half an hour; and when

Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly showed

how really happy he was.

Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their

visitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was gone, he

turned to his daughter and said,--

“Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman.”

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his

goodness.

“You are a good girl,” he replied, “and I have great pleasure in

thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your

doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are

each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so

easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will

always exceed your income.”

“I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters would be

unpardonable in _me_.”

“Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet,” cried his wife, “what are you

talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a year, and very likely

more.” Then addressing her daughter, “Oh, my dear, dear Jane, I am so

happy! I am sure I shan’t get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it

would be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not

be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when

he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was

that you should come together. Oh, he is the handsomest young man that

ever was seen!”

Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her

favourite child. At that moment she cared for no other. Her younger

sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness

which she might in future be able to dispense.

Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty

begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.

Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn;

coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after

supper; unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough

detested, had given him an invitation to dinner, which he thought

himself obliged to accept.

Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister; for

while he was present Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else: but

she found herself considerably useful to both of them, in those hours of

separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he always

attached himself to Elizabeth for the pleasure of talking of her; and

when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of relief.

“He has made me so happy,” said she, one evening, “by telling me that he

was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not believed

it possible.”

“I suspected as much,” replied Elizabeth. “But how did he account for

it?”

“It must have been his sisters’ doing. They were certainly no friends to

his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have

chosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see,

as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will

learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again: though we

can never be what we once were to each other.”

“That is the most unforgiving speech,” said Elizabeth, “that I ever

heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again

the dupe of Miss Bingley’s pretended regard.”

“Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November he

really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of _my_ being indifferent

would have prevented his coming down again?”

“He made a little mistake, to be sure; but it is to the credit of his

modesty.”

This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and

the little value he put on his own good qualities.

Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not betrayed the interference

of his friend; for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving

heart in the world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice

her against him.

“I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!” cried

Jane. “Oh, Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed

above them all? If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such

another man for you!”

“If you were to give me forty such men I never could be so happy as you.

Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your

happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very

good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time.”

The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a

secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and

she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her

neighbours in Meryton.

The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the

world; though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away,

they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.

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