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; and 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,” looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was
nothing at all.”
“Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for
her mother. “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 neighbourhood, I believe there
are few neighbourhoods larger. I know 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 not he? So much the man of
fashion! So genteel and easy! He has always something to say to
everybody. _That_ is my idea of good breeding; and those persons
who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths,
quite mistake the matter.”
“Did Charlotte dine with you?”
“No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the
mince-pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, _I_ always keep servants
that can do their own work; _my_ daughters are brought up very
differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, 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.”
“Oh! dear, yes; but you must own 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, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her
too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty
they were.”
“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “There
has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder
who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away
love!”
“I have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love,” said
Darcy.
“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; and the general pause which ensued made
Elizabeth tremble lest her mother should be exposing 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. She performed her part indeed
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 was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine
complexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her
mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early
age. 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. She was very equal, therefore,
to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and abruptly
reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be the most
shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer to
this sudden attack was delightful to their mother’s ear:
“I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and
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 was well, and by that time most likely
Captain