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Old friends and new fancies

by Sybil G. Brinton · English · Gutenberg #43741 · 637,874 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Old friends and new fancies
        an imaginary sequel to the novels of Jane Austen

Author: Sybil G. Brinton

Other: Jane Austen


        
Release date: September 16, 2013 [eBook #43741]
                Most recently updated: November 6, 2025

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43741

Credits: Produced by Margaret Sullivan, Clare Graham at http://www.girlebooks.com and Marc D'Hooghe


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD FRIENDS AND NEW FANCIES ***

OLD FRIENDS AND NEW FANCIES

_AN IMAGINARY SEQUEL_

_TO THE NOVELS OF JANE AUSTEN_

BY

SYBIL G. BRINTON

LONDON

HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM

ADELPHI

1913





In this little attempt at picturing the after-adventures of some of Jane
Austen's characters I have made use of the references to them which she
herself made, and which are recorded in Mr. Austen-Leigh's "Memoir."

More grateful acknowledgments than I can ever express are due to my
friend Edith Barran, without whom this book could not have been written.

The difficulties, as well as the presumption, of such an undertaking,
are alike evident; but the fascination of the subject must be our
apology to those who, like ourselves, "owe to Jane Austen of the
happiest hours of their lives."

S.G.B.





_The following characters are introduced into the story:--_

     From _Pride and Prejudice._

     Elizabeth Bennet (now Mrs. Darcy).
     Jane Bennet (now Mrs. Bingley).
     Mr. Darcy.
     Mr. Bingley.
     Miss Bingley.
     Mr. and Mrs. Hurst.
     Kitty Bennet.
     Mr. Bennet.
     Georgiana Darcy.
     Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
     Miss de Bourgh.
     Colonel Fitzwilliam.
     Mrs. Gardiner.
     Mrs. Annesley.


     From _Mansfield Park._

     William Price.
     Mary Crawford.
     Henry Crawford.
     Mrs. Grant.
     Mr. Yates.
     Mrs. Yates.
     Tom Bertram.


     From _Northanger Abbey._

     James Morland.
     Eleanor Tilney (now Lady Portinscale).
     General Tilney.
     Captain Tilney.
     Isabella Thorpe.


     From _Sense and Sensibility._

     Elinor Dashwood (now Mrs. Edward Ferrars).
     Edward Ferrars.
     Robert Ferrars.
     Mrs. Jennings.
     Lucy Steele (now Mrs. Robert Ferrars).
     Anne Steele.
     Mr. Palmer.


     From _Persuasion._

     Captain Wentworth.
     Anne Elliot (now Mrs. Wentworth).
     Sir Walter Elliot.
     Miss Elliot.


     From _Emma._

     Emma Woodhouse (now Mrs. Knightley).
     Mr. Knightley.




Chapter I


There is one characteristic which may be safely said to belong to nearly
all happily-married couples--that of desiring to see equally happy
marriages among their young friends; and in some cases, where their
wishes are strong and circumstances seem favourable to the exertion of
their own efforts, they may even embark upon the perilous but delightful
course of helping those persons whose minds are as yet not made up, to
form a decision respecting this important crisis in life, and this done,
to assist in clearing the way in order that this decision may forthwith
be acted upon.

Some good intentions of this kind, arising out of a very sincere
affection for both the persons concerned, and a real anxiety about the
future of the younger and dearer of the two, had actuated Elizabeth and
Mr. Darcy in promoting an engagement between Georgiana Darcy and Colonel
Fitzwilliam. Georgiana was then twenty, and had lived entirely with her
brother during the three and a half years of his married life. Reserved,
shy, without self-reliance, and slow to form new attachments, she had
been accustomed to look upon the Colonel as, after her brother, her
eldest and best friend, a feeling which the disparity of their ages
served to strengthen. She had therefore accepted the fact of their new
relations with a kind of timid pleasure, only imploring Elizabeth that
nothing need be said about marriage for some time to come.

"Elizabeth, when I am married, shall I have to go and stay at Rosings
without you?" she had asked; and on being assured that such might be the
terrible consequences of matrimony, she had manifested a strong
inclination not to look beyond the present, but to enjoy for some time
longer the love and protection she had always met with as an inmate of
her brother's house.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh had thought it necessary to go through the form
of expressing displeasure at the whole proceeding, in consequence of
Darcy's omission to ask her advice in the disposal of his sister's hand,
but in reality she so thoroughly approved of the match between her
nephew and niece that she forgot her chagrin, and talked everywhere of
her satisfaction in at last seeing a prospect of a member of the Darcy
family being united to one who was in every respect worthy of the
position.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were seated in the library at Pemberley one April
morning when the engagement was about six months old. Their two
children, a handsome boy of two, and a baby girl of a few months, had
just been taken upstairs after the merry games with their parents to
which this hour was usually devoted, and Elizabeth was arranging with
her husband the plans for the day.

"What has become of Georgiana and Fitzwilliam?" inquired Darcy. "I
understand they were going to ride together; but they both said they
would prefer to put it off till twelve o'clock, when I could go with
them."

"They have been walking on the terrace, but Georgiana has gone in now,"
replied Elizabeth, glancing out of the window. She returned to her
husband's side, and, sitting down, began to speak with great
earnestness. "Do you think that they are really happy in their
engagement? I have been watching them closely for some days, and I am
convinced that Georgiana, at all events, is not."

Mr. Darcy's manner expressed surprise and incredulity. "What fancy is
this you have taken into your head, Elizabeth? No, certainly no such
idea had ever crossed my own mind. You must be mistaken."

"I do not think so," said Elizabeth. "Their relation to one another has
not, since he has been staying here this time, its former ease and
naturalness, and I have noticed other indications as well, which make me
think that freedom would bring them mutual relief."

"I am sorry for what you say, Elizabeth," said Darcy gravely; "but it is
possible you lay too much stress on what may be merely a passing mood.
When we first consented to the engagement I thought them to be
excellently suited to each other, and so far I have not seen anything to
modify that opinion. What has Georgiana been saying to you?"

"She has said nothing, but knowing her so well, I can see she is not
happy. She is nervous, restless, unlike herself; she tries to escape
being alone with Robert; she avoids with a painful embarrassment any
reference to her future plans; nay, you must have noticed incidents like
that of yesterday, when she almost cried and begged to be excused from
going with us to Bath next week."

"That is mere foolishness; there is no shadow of reason why she should
be more afraid of her Aunt Catherine now than she ever was."

"There is more reason, if she dreads to hear her marriage talked of as
rapidly approaching, and herself and Robert referred to as a most
fortunate and admirably-assorted pair--you know how your aunt harangues
them on all occasions."

Darcy smiled slightly, then rose and began to pace the room. "If your
conjectures are correct, Elizabeth, and Georgiana is unhappy in the
prospect of this marriage, of course it cannot go on; but I shall be
deeply grieved for all reasons, and I hardly know how to ask Fitzwilliam
to release her. Excellent fellow though he is, he might well resent
being thrown over after half a year for what seems like a girlish
caprice."

"I do not believe that in any case he would resent it," replied
Elizabeth. "There would be regret on both sides--regret that they had
not been able to make each other happy; but I more than suspect that if
we could ascertain his feelings, we should find them to coincide with
Georgiana's. In six months, you know, they have had time to reflect and
to realize what the engagement means to both of them."

"You assume a good deal, Elizabeth. I cannot believe that it is so
uncongenial to Fitzwilliam."

"That is because he is too good, too honourable to show it; and yet I am
sensible that it is so--that his regard for Georgiana is that of a
friend, a brother, nothing more. I suppose you cannot remember the time
when we were engaged, Darcy, and Bingley and Jane also?" she added,
looking archly at her husband.

"My dear, I recollect it all with the deepest satisfaction; but, you
know, everyone does not display their feelings in the same way.
Fitzwilliam is an older man than I am, and was never prone to raptures,
and Georgiana has not the liveliness of mind of my Elizabeth."

"I know they are not likely to be run away with by their feelings, as
Mr. Collins would say," replied Elizabeth, smiling; "but even taking
Fitzwilliam's age and Georgiana's gravity into consideration, this is
not at all the same thing. I am convinced that they do not find that
complete joy in their engagement that people should, and that these two
might if they were each engaged to the right person."

"Do you mean that Georgiana has seen someone whom she might prefer?"
asked Darcy sharply.

Elizabeth gave a decided negative to this, and her husband remained for
some minutes wrapped in thought. At length he roused himself, and said:
"You had better speak to Georgiana on the subject, Elizabeth, and if it
is as you suppose, we will talk it over with Fitzwilliam together. For
my sister to dissolve her engagement is a serious step, and must be well
considered."

His wife agreed, and added: "Pray, dear Darcy, if it should come to an
end, do not show any resentment in your manner towards Georgiana. She
cannot help not caring enough for Fitzwilliam, and it will be painful
enough for her to break with him and to know that she has disappointed
you."

"I will try not to do so, Elizabeth; but you know how much I desire a
safe and honourable settlement in life for Georgiana, such as this
marriage would have been."

"We both wished it so much that I am afraid we were led into mistaking
the real nature of their attachment," said his wife. "At any rate, since
we assisted in bringing the affair about, we must share the
responsibility of ending it--a fact which your aunt is not likely to
allow us to forget, is she, Darcy?"

"True," returned Darcy. "It is regrettable that the engagement was so
generally made known. However, Georgiana may stay away from Bath if she
prefers."

It was a relief to Elizabeth to have fairly talked her husband into
accepting the possibility of such an unwelcome turn of affairs, for
events proved her misgivings to have been well founded. She had truly
gauged the feelings of Georgiana and Fitzwilliam with regard to each
other and to their engagement. Georgiana confessed, with deep distress
and confusion, that she knew it was very ungrateful and naughty,
but--she did not seem to be able to care for her cousin in that way, and
would have said so before, but that she was afraid her brother and her
aunt would be angry. Fitzwilliam admitted that he had long feared his
inability to make his cousin happy, but showed how very great was his
dread of causing her, by his defection, to be wounded, reproached, or
unkindly talked about. Elizabeth had a difficult task to smooth away all
obstacles and to bring comfort to the minds of two very troubled and
scrupulous people, besides her other duty of persuading her husband that
the separation was the right thing, and of shielding Georgiana from all
disagreeables; but in a few days everything had been accomplished except
what time alone could do.

Darcy could not altogether conceal his regret and disappointment at this
termination of his hopes, and Georgiana was miserable in the
consciousness that he blamed her for not having known her mind at the
beginning of the engagement. Had she really cared for Fitzwilliam, he
was convinced that it must have gone on to a happy conclusion; and
naturally his cousin could hardly be the one to uphold a different
opinion. Fitzwilliam could only assert and reassert that Georgiana was
undeserving of the slightest reproach, and endeavour to divert his
cousin's attention to himself.

It was arranged that he should accompany the Darcys as usual to Bath,
where they were to meet Lady Catherine, and meanwhile Georgiana accepted
an invitation from Jane and Mr. Bingley, which on a hint from Elizabeth
was warmly extended to her, to go and stay with them at the same time at
their house on the other side of Derbyshire.




Chapter II


Lady Catherine de Bourgh, with her daughter and Mrs. Jenkinson, had been
established in her favourite lodgings in Pulteney Street since the
middle of March. It had been her custom of late years to spend six or
seven weeks in Bath every spring. She had considered it to be good for
her daughter's health; she also considered that her own constitution and
spirits benefited greatly by this yearly change of social environment.
The Rosings' card-parties lacked variety. Mr. and Mrs. Collins remained
admirable listeners, but their conversation, like their civilities,
occasionally wore a little thin. Lady Catherine, would she but have
admitted it, thought that Mr. Collins was too much interested in his own
asparagus-beds and too little in her peach-houses; and the ailments of
the children kept Mrs. Collins at home on several evenings when it would
have been convenient to the hostess at Rosings to make up a
quadrille-table. Obviously the most suitable spot in which Lady
Catherine and her daughter could have sought change of air would have
been the residence of her nephew; but Darcy and Elizabeth had very
early in their married life made it clear that they did not intend their
house to be turned into a hydropathic establishment for their ailing
relatives, and that they would entertain their visitors at such times
and for as long as they chose; consequently Lady Catherine had been
reduced to the expedient of going to Bath in the season, and to
Pemberley when she was asked. She, however, reserved to herself the
right of insisting that her relatives should visit her at Bath, and
Darcy, who wished to give no occasion of offence to his mother's only
sister, was in the habit of taking his wife and sister down there every
spring for a short stay at one of the hotels, thus forming among
themselves a pleasant and independent little party, which was usually
joined by Colonel Fitzwilliam. This year Lady Catherine, having been
there for some weeks previously, had been collecting round her a circle
of acquaintances, some more and some less likely to be congenial to the
relatives whose visit was pending.

"Elizabeth," said Mr. Darcy to his wife, as they stood together in Lady
Catherine's drawing-room at a large reception which she was giving in
their honour, two days after their arrival, "I think I see General
Tilney over there; and, unless my memory is failing me, surely this is
his daughter coming towards us, whom we made friends with last year."

"Why, so it is; what a delightful surprise!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Dear
Lady Portinscale, how glad I am to see you again! Do not say you have
forgotten me, or I shall find it hard to forgive you!"

"No, indeed, Mrs. Darcy, I was coming to introduce myself, in fear that
you might have forgotten me. How do you do, Mr. Darcy? Lady Catherine
told me that she was expecting the whole party from Pemberley this
week."

"Yes, we have come to put in our period of attendance, as you see," said
Elizabeth, "but I never dreamed of anything so pleasant as meeting you
again, after what you said last year."

"The truth is that my father has not been at all well, and as he felt
himself obliged to come here for a short time, he begged us to join him
for two or three weeks."

"Your husband is here this evening?"

"Yes, he is in the next room; I see him talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"And are your brother and his pretty wife in Bath this spring? I
remember her so well."

"No, they are at home; but we have a brother of hers staying with
us--James Morland. He has a curacy in a very unhealthy part of the
Thames Valley, and he has been extremely ill with a low fever, so we
have brought him here for a fortnight in the hope that it will do him
good."

"How very kind of you to take care of him! He is fortunate to have such
friends."

"Oh, no, it is a very small thing; and he is such an excellent young
fellow--sensible and agreeable, and so hard-working! My husband has the
highest opinion of him; and were he less amiable, it would be a pleasure
to be of service to anyone connected with Catherine."

"You oblige me to repeat that anyone who has you for his or her advocate
is indeed fortunate, Lady Portinscale," answered Elizabeth, smiling;
"but now that you know your character, pray perform the same kind office
for some of the people here. They are nearly all strangers to me, and
if my husband were not listening, I should say that I wonder how my aunt
manages to pick them up."

"Lady Portinscale will soon gauge your character, Elizabeth, if you make
such terribly outspoken comments," said Darcy, smiling. "You must not
mind her, Lady Portinscale; my aunt's presence has a demoralizing effect
upon my wife. It is a very sad thing, but I have often remarked it."

"Not her presence in the ordinary way," said Elizabeth; "but to-day we
have been through such a stormy scene together, that I may be excused
for feeling that my aunt and I must go diametrically opposite ways for
the rest of our lives."

"Really?" said Eleanor Portinscale, with the faintest suspicion of
laughter in her eyes. "Poor Lady Catherine! I recollect last year that
you and your sister-in-law were continually brewing some kind of
rebellious mischief against her."

"That is just the cause of the trouble now," responded Elizabeth. "My
sister-in-law became engaged to Colonel Fitzwilliam last November; but I
saw that they were both so extremely unhappy in their engagement that I
was instrumental in breaking it off, and this happened only last week;
so that is why Robert Fitzwilliam is looking ten years younger,
Georgiana is sheltering safely at home, and Lady Catherine is furiously
angry with everyone all round, especially with me."

"I am sorry," said Lady Portinscale with gentle sympathy. "These things
cannot be done without regrets and heartburnings. I hope it will mean
real happiness for them both in the end."

"One has to take that part of it on trust," was Elizabeth's answer; "in
the meantime it has upset my husband dreadfully, and I am afraid he will
never be quite reconciled to it until he sees Georgiana happily married
to somebody who has at present not appeared on the scene."

"I suppose she felt altogether disinclined for coming with you to Bath,
else she might have met friends here who would have distracted her
thoughts."

"Yes; but, of course, she would not come, and I could hardly persuade
her even to accept an invitation to go and stay with my sister Jane for
part of the time that we shall be away. We left her in such terribly low
spirits that it is really some consolation to see Colonel Fitzwilliam
looking as if a weight had been taken off his mind. It would be a sad
pity that we should all have got into hot water with Lady Catherine and
nobody be a penny the better for it."

Lady Portinscale smiled. "He is a very handsome man, and extraordinarily
young-looking; he is nearly forty, is he not?"

"Yes, one would not suspect him of it. There is Captain Wentworth
talking to him now; they seem to come here every year. Mrs. Wentworth
and Georgiana became rather friendly, and they correspond. But those
relatives of hers are impossible! Why, what is going on? Lady Catherine
seems to be carrying off Colonel Fitzwilliam; poor man, he was in such a
congenial group! Whom can she be introducing him to? They are people I
never saw before."

"I do not know them myself, but I have several times seen them with Lady
Catherine," replied Lady Portinscale. "They are called Ferrars; at
least, one of them is Mrs. Ferrars, I am not sure which."

The persons who had attracted Elizabeth's attention were three in
number; the two ladies somewhat resembled one another, being rather
thin, small in stature, and very elaborately dressed in the height of
the fashion. One of them might have been considered pretty, but for her
sharp, almost shrewish features, restless eyes, and the discontented,
irritable lines which had formed themselves in her face. The other had
these characteristics in a more marked degree, together with a general
air of much less refinement and sense. It was not to be expected that
Lucy and Anne Steele would have altered very greatly for the better
since the empty-headed and overdressed fop who now accompanied them had
exalted Lucy to the honour of becoming Mrs. Robert Ferrars. After four
years of family quarrels with Mrs. Ferrars and Mrs. John Dashwood, of
spending more than her husband's income, of scheming to obtain Anne a
husband, of striving to push herself into fashionable society and to
hold her own there; she found her only happiness in visits to gay
watering-places, where she could pick up new acquaintances, and in their
company forget for a time the incessant worries and vexations of her
home-life. Anne spent the greater part of the year with her sister and
brother-in-law, occasionally diversifying her programme by a visit from
Mrs. Jennings, or to Elinor and Edward Ferrars, when out of kindness to
Lucy they would consent to receive her for a time; but these visits of
Anne's to the rectory at Delaford were a trial to all concerned; and
since, on the death of Colonel Brandon, Edward had effected an exchange
of livings with a clergyman in Derbyshire, Elinor ventured to hope that
Anne would no longer find it a convenience to stay with persons who
resided in such an out-of-the-way part of the country. For the present,
both Lucy and Anne were quite satisfied with their surroundings. They
had had the good fortune to become known to Lady Catherine de Bourgh,
and by the exercise of all the tact, flattery and obliging manners at
their command, had rendered themselves indispensable at whatever
entertainments she gave, large or small, and were being treated by her
with such marked graciousness as to rouse their hopes of receiving an
invitation to Rosings, a mansion of the glories of which they had heard
much, as had all Lady Catherine's friends. The introduction, on this
evening, to such a handsome, soldierly and aristocratic-looking man as
Colonel Fitzwilliam was a piece of good luck which exceeded Anne's
wildest dreams; and although, as soon as the proper civilities had been
exchanged, he seized the first opportunity of returning to his men
friends, Anne lost no time in confiding to Lucy her extreme satisfaction
at the addition of such a very smart beau to Lady Catherine's party.

"Don't be a fool, Nancy," was Lucy's answer, in somewhat discouraging
tones; "what's the good of expecting a man like that to look at you?
And, besides, isn't he engaged to Mr. Darcy's sister?"

"No," Anne answered eagerly, "the engagement's broke off. Miss de Bourgh
told me so to-day. And fancy Lady Catherine introducing him to us at
once! She must want us to be all friends together, mustn't she?"

"Well, it's likely you'll go and spoil it in some way; you never caught
the doctor, for all his attention," Lucy responded with true sisterly
candour, "and I expect we'll find we don't see much of Colonel
Fitzwilliam. He's staying at the hotel with the Darcys, and from the
look of Mrs. Darcy I don't know as she'll want to do just what Lady
Catherine tells her, all day long."

"I shall go and sit by Miss de Bourgh," said Nancy, after a moment's
contemplation of this dismal prospect, "and perhaps Lady Catherine will
introduce me to the Darcys. You'd better come too, Lucy. We can't get
along without knowing them now."

Lucy consented, after some demur; and in the course of the evening their
hopes of an introduction were realized, and their self-importance
greatly increased; for Mrs. Darcy, curious to ascertain what kind of
hangers-on had found places in her aunt's _cortège_ this year, had
conversed for a short time with them both; and with the prudence and
consideration which was characteristic of her, had refrained from
expressing to her husband the full extent of the unfavourable impression
which they created.

"I do not much care for those new friends of my aunt's," Darcy remarked
to his wife when they reached home.

"Why, my dear, you were not even introduced to them," exclaimed
Elizabeth. "Robert, I noticed, did not escape, but you did. Besides,
they are related to the Ferrars at home; there is no getting away from
that."

"I gathered that they were, but I can hardly believe it. That man
brother to Edward Ferrars! I heard him trying to argue with Robert about
Nelson's tactics at the battle of the Nile, and it was enough for me. I
have heard far sounder sense talked at a tenants' dinner--at the end of
one, too."

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth laughed. "His views upon life in general
appeared to suffer somewhat from lack of breadth," said the former, "and
I can imagine it would be possible to find him a tedious companion. As
for the ladies of the party, I did not have much conversation with
them."

"I think the look of them rather frightened Robert," said Elizabeth;
"but, on the whole, they are tolerably unobjectionable. After all, one
can't always pick and choose at a place like Bath, and, anyhow, we must
be civil to Aunt Catherine's friends--it is not for very long. I am
really going to practise what I preach, so you need not look at me like
that, Mr. Darcy."

The following evening the whole party met again at a concert in aid of a
charity, which had been patronized by Lady Catherine to the extent of
several pounds' worth of tickets. The morning had been spent by the
Darcys and Fitzwilliam in their own occupations; but they had been
obliged to dine with their aunt, and to meet at dinner the Robert
Ferrars, with Miss Anne Steele. General Tilney, Lady Portinscale's
father, and his son Frederick made up the requisite number of gentlemen,
and Elizabeth found much to divert her in watching, during dinner, the
manoeuvres of Miss Steele, who, seated between the two bachelors, was
fully occupied in efforts to make herself equally and incessantly
agreeable to both of them; the dire failure of which might have aroused
some compassion had she not been so completely self-satisfied and
confident. Captain Tilney certainly kept up the conversation in the
style that was expected of him as long as he could, and then turned to
Miss de Bourgh and devoted himself to her, having been informed by his
father that she was a considerable heiress, and his attentions to her
must be regulated accordingly. Colonel Fitzwilliam, for his part, found
three-cornered discussion carried on with great animation between
himself, his aunt, and General Tilney, who sat opposite, on the military
genius of the French generals, considerably more interesting than Miss
Steele's observation on the Bath assemblies and her openly-expressed
predilection in favour of officers as partners. Elizabeth and her
husband were no better off in their respective companions. The inanities
of Robert Ferrars, and the pretensions of his wife, were calculated to
put a severe strain on the good intentions of Lady Catherine's niece
and nephew towards her guests.

"How elegantly Lady Catherine's dinner-parties are always carried out!"
remarked Lucy to Mr. Darcy, in a kind of loud aside, as they unfolded
their napkins. "She seems to be one of those fortunate persons who
always manage to have everything about them as _recherché_ as it is at
home, wherever they may be staying. Don't you think so, Mr. Darcy? No
one else could have made this apartment what it is, but with Lady
Catherine's delightful appointments you could, I daresay, easily imagine
yourself to be in one of the smaller dining parlours at Rosings, could
you not?"

Mr. Darcy was rather taken aback by this speech, and hastily making a
mental review of his aunt's usual visitors, failed entirely to connect
Mrs. Robert Ferrars with the dining parlour, or any other room at
Rosings; so his reply was not very satisfactory to his questioner.

"It seems a pleasant and convenient room. My aunt, I believe, generally
takes these lodgings; and when she settles down in a place for a few
weeks, naturally likes to make it comfortable."

"Oh, but I think it is a special gift of dear Lady Catherine's,"
exclaimed Lucy. "You cannot deny it, Mr. Darcy, knowing Rosings as you
do. Now at our lodgings--well, I daresay the rooms are very little
smaller than this--but try as I will, I cannot give them a home-like
air, though I assure you I brought two large packing-cases of dainty
trifles from our country house."

"Indeed!" said Darcy.

"Yes, but the lavish refinement, combined with substantial comfort, of
Lady Catherine's surroundings always appeals to me so strongly when I
come here. I am sure you understand what I mean, Mr. Darcy, with a home
like Pemberley as a standard to judge other people's houses by."

"I had not regarded Bath lodgings from that point of view," said Mr.
Darcy. "Are you making a long stay here, may I ask?"

"Yes, we hope to remain for some weeks. I always enjoy Bath so much at
this time of year; and so does Mr. Ferrars. I consider it infinitely
preferable to the autumn season, do not you, Mr. Darcy? All the best
people seem to come now, and one is not likely to meet anyone whose
acquaintance one would not wish to continue afterwards."

Mr. Darcy took advantage of this pause, during which his companion
helped herself to fish, to consider what reply he should truthfully make
to such a sentiment; but before Mrs. Ferrars could insist upon his
agreeing with her, he was called upon by his aunt from the end of the
table to support her in a flat contradiction of General Tilney, who was
undoubtedly getting the best of a somewhat heated argument. Elizabeth
was not more fortunate in her companion. The wearisome descriptions of
this or that friend's house, habits, achievements, which were all that
Robert Ferrars could contribute to the conversation, were almost more
than could be endured with patience throughout a long dinner, even by
one who could derive quiet amusement from almost any kind of harmless
absurdity; and it was with a sigh of relief that Elizabeth heard her
aunt's peremptory command that everyone should go and put on their coats
and cloaks, for she would not have her party arrive late for the
beginning of the concert.

The ladies were distributed among various coaches, while the gentlemen
walked on. Elizabeth found that her companions were to be her cousin and
Miss Anne Steele; and during the drive she had leisure to remark, with
great astonishment, the evident intimacy which existed between the young
women. Anne tried to draw her into their discussions; but finding Mrs.
Darcy resolutely silent, she turned to Miss de Bourgh, and began to
rally her on the becomingness of the gown which the latter was wearing,
accompanying her remarks with many giggles, mysterious whispers and
covert references to "favourite colour" and "smart uniforms" which made
Elizabeth wonder that her cousin could tolerate such treatment for an
instant. But poor Anne de Bourgh's nature, only half developed by reason
of her ill-health and her mother's forcefulness of character, had
yielded entirely to the dominating influence exercised over her by a
person nearer her own age, and one who made an effort to understand and
play upon her weakness. Elizabeth soon began to perceive the secret of
the intimacy--Miss Steele, in her anxiety to recommend herself to the de
Bourgh family, had discovered that by enlivening and flattering the
daughter she might best become a person of value to the mother. Anne
Steele's last words before the carriage stopped were intended to be
inaudible to Elizabeth, and put the final touch to her disgust and
dislike.

"Me and Lucy will be _so_ miserable if you give us up now these grand
cousins of yours are come down, Miss Anne!"

Miss de Bourgh made what was for her a vehement motion of dissent, and
when they had entered the room, Elizabeth, having piloted her charges to
Lady Catherine's side, found a seat for herself as far as possible from
anyone connected with the Steele family. Her husband joined her just
before the concert began, and in the double pleasure of listening to the
music and feeling his proximity, she forgot the previous vexations of
the evening.

"Well, how have you been getting on?" inquired a voice behind her, in
the first pause.

"Why, Fitzwilliam!" exclaimed Darcy, glancing round, "what business have
you up at this end? You ought to be squiring the young ladies down there
by my aunt."

"Poor Robert!" said Elizabeth. "He is only off duty for half an hour."

"That is it," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I was exhausted, and seeing
this empty chair, I forthwith occupied it. Besides, I want to hear the
harp solo in peace and quiet. I have not heard the harp played for
years, and I am exceedingly fond of it."

"That is the next one, I see. Hush, now! I know this man is going to
sing out of tune. He looks like it."

"We ought to have some compensation for listening to that," murmured
Darcy, when the song was done. "I believe Mr. Collins would have given
us a better performance."

"He certainly is rather like Mr. Collins," remarked Elizabeth
reflectively. "Here comes the harp--and what a lovely girl! Is her name
on the programme? Yes, Miss Crawford."

Mary Crawford, who since Dr. Grant's death had entirely lived with her
sister, Mrs. Grant, at Bath, had lost none of the beauty and charm which
had captivated the heart of Edmund Bertram: indeed, the four years which
had elapsed since then had given her form and air more regal elegance.
The knowledge of sorrow, and regret that she had so much to injure her
own chances of happiness, had softened her nature, and now, more gentle,
womanly and sympathetic, she was in many ways a different creature from
the brilliant Miss Crawford of former days. Mrs. Grant, while loving her
devotedly and rejoicing in her companionship, still grieved in secret
that no suitor worthy of her dear Mary should ever have succeeded Edmund
Bertram, and that no second attachment should have taken place of one
which, though renounced without bitterness, had nevertheless left a deep
mark upon her sister's character. In Bath their lives were full of
interest, and they made many friends; but Mary always laughed at her
sister's plans for her marrying, and returned the same kind of answer.
"I expect so much, you know, and the chosen he must expect so little,
that I doubt whether we should ever come to terms."

Her sister would protest against this, knowing well the real worth of
the disposition which Mary hid under a careless and sometimes cold
manner; but she also knew that Mary would be more difficult to satisfy,
both as regards her own qualities and those of her possible husband, in
consequence of the better taste she had acquired at Mansfield. This
evening, Miss Crawford, who had consented to perform solely on account
of the charitable object of the concert, was out of humour with herself
and all the world. Her sister being unwell, she had been obliged to
accept an escort to the concert, the company of Sir Walter and Miss
Elliot, whom, as residents in Bath, she had known since the time of her
sister's settling there. Miss Crawford's beauty of face and figure were
exactly what would recommend Sir Walter; and while condemning her sister
as dull and unfashionable, nothing delighted him more than to be seen in
public as squire of the charming and elegant Miss Crawford. Six months'
acquaintance had caused her, on her side, thoroughly to weary of him,
and on the few occasions when she could not avoid a meeting she
endeavoured to converse with his eldest daughter, whom she found only a
degree less tiresome and empty-headed. To-night, however, there was no
help for it. With them she had come, with them she must remain,
unluckily placed at a distance from any of her other Bath friends, her
enjoyment of the music spoiled by her companions' irrelevant chatter,
her only pleasure to acquit herself creditably in the piece she had
chosen to play. This, at all events, was in her power, she felt, as she
ascended the platform and shook off sensations of listlessness and
ennui; and she succeeded so well that the audience were roused to a
display of their delight and enthusiasm, and she had to return twice to
acknowledge their plaudits. Next moment she perceived, or thought she
perceived, that owing to an increased crowd in the lower part of the
room she could not easily get back to her seat without making a little
disturbance; so she slipped into a chair in the front row, which was
allotted to the performers, thankful even for a short respite.

When the interval came, she remained where she was, and, a few minutes
later, seeing the gentleman who had been the chief promoter of the
concert trying to attract her attention, she rose unwillingly, supposing
that Sir Walter Elliot had come to claim her. What was her surprise to
hear Mr. Durand say: "Lady Catherine de Bourgh particularly wishes to
know you. May I present you to her?"

Mary felt that she had not had much choice in the matter, but she found
herself curtseying to a tall and formidable-looking elderly lady,
dressed in rich brocades, who surveyed her as if from a great height,
and said: "Allow me to tell you, Miss Crawford, how much pleased I was
with your late performance on the harp. I have heard every harp player
of note in Europe during the last forty years, and I may say I consider
you quite equal to those of the second rank. Though not a performer
myself, I am quite acquainted with the difficulties of the instrument."

Mary hardly knew whether to be more vexed or amused at this
extraordinary address, and might have been inclined towards the former,
had not Mrs. Darcy, who had seen the beginning of the incident, and
hastened forward lest her aunt's insolent patronage should offend,
interposed with a kindly: "We have all been enjoying your piece so much.
It must be delightful to be able to play like that. My aunt is such a
lover of music that she cannot hide her enthusiasm."

"And why should I hide it, may I ask?" demanded Lady Catherine. "My
judgment has often been of great service to young amateurs, among whom
you might include yourself, Elizabeth."

"Yes, I know," replied Elizabeth, good-humouredly. "But Miss Crawford
cannot be classed with the average amateur. May I introduce myself, as
Mr. Durand has gone away? I am Mrs. Darcy. I saw you sitting with the
Elliots, so perhaps you know a great friend of mine, Mrs. Wentworth."

Miss Crawford was about to enter gladly into the subject of Mrs.
Wentworth, when Lady Catherine interposed, and in a few minutes, before
Mary had quite realized what was happening, she found herself giving the
assurance that Mrs. Grant would be delighted to receive a visit from
Lady Catherine and Mrs. Darcy, and that she herself would be present at
Lady Catherine's reception in Pulteney Street in a fortnight's time. She
hardly knew how it had all come about, and she found herself wondering,
as she was led back to her seat by Sir Walter Elliot, whether it was
Lady Catherine's domineering manner, or Mrs. Darcy's kind looks, that
she had yielded to so easily. The Elliots were eager with their
questions. What? she did not know that that was Lady Catherine de
Bourgh? Everyone knew Lady Catherine, she came to Bath every year--a
very well-preserved old lady, must be quite sixty and does not look more
than forty-eight--people of property--large estate in Kent--"an
acquaintance quite worth following up, my dear Miss Crawford; of course
_we_, with our already large circle of friends, could not attempt to
include persons who only come here for a short time; otherwise we should
have been very happy to have visited Lady Catherine."




Chapter III


The Darcys found plenty to enjoy during their stay in Bath, as after
dutifully allotting part of the day to a call on Lady Catherine, or to
joining her at the Lower Rooms, they were free to make their own
engagements, and passed a good deal of their time with Lord and Lady
Portinscale, Mr. Morland and the Wentworths, Colonel Fitzwilliam
invariably forming one of the party. James Morland, the Portinscales'
youngest guest, had favourably impressed them from the first, being a
young man of sense, education and good address. The experience he had
gained from his somewhat unfortunate friendship with the Thorpe family,
followed by his closer acquaintance with the Tilneys, had been an
incalculable benefit to him in helping to form his character and in
teaching him what are the qualities in a friend which win sincere love
and respect. Hard work, resolution and regret for his own follies, and
the encouragement and kindness he had received from his relations, had
combined to put Isabella Thorpe out of his head, and to recuperate a
heart he had thought blighted over for ever. He had within the last few
weeks been obliged to resign the curacy he had held since his
ordination, on account of the ill effects of the air of the valley on
his health; and was now earnestly hoping to grow strong enough to resume
work in some other part of the country, as he had, of course, resolved
upon remaining a bachelor all his life, and making his church and parish
suffice in place of domestic joys. His somewhat diffident manner in the
society of men so much older than himself as Mr. Darcy and Captain
Wentworth did him no disservice with them; and before they had known the
particulars of his history for many days, Mr. Darcy was meditating upon
the possibility of giving him material assistance in his career.

In the meantime, Elizabeth, independently of Lady Catherine, had
exchanged calls with Mrs. Grant, whom she found anxious to be friendly,
more anxious, indeed, than Mary, who, while appreciating Mrs. Darcy's
kindness and charm, greatly disliked the patronizing manners of the
mistress of Rosings Park. A few days after the concert the sisters spent
a morning in Mrs. Darcy's sitting-room. Elizabeth had never neglected
her study of the pianoforte or of singing, and as Mary, at the earnest
request of her hostess, had brought her harp, the pleasure of the whole
party, sometimes in conversation, sometimes in music, was ensured.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is very fond of music, is he not?" Mrs. Grant said
to Mrs. Darcy, glancing across the room to where the Colonel and her
sister were engaged in animated discussion of the latest importations
from German composers. "He really does like it, does not praise it out
of mere politeness?"

"My dear Mrs. Grant! He is the most enthusiastic amateur I know. I often
tell my husband that he would never have fallen in love with me if
Colonel Fitzwilliam and I had not struck up a friendship over music,
which made him think there was more in me than he had perceived before.
He himself is not such a good judge of it, but my cousin was greatly
struck with your sister's playing the other night, and it really is
appreciation from him."

"I am so glad: it will be a pleasure to Mary to meet him. Excuse my
asking--I cannot quite understand--does he live with you or with your
aunt?"

"With neither; he is our guest when we are in Bath, and he stays a great
deal with us in the country; but he has rooms in London, and, I think,
honestly prefers town as a residence, but that he is so fond of my
husband and all his belongings."

There was a pause, and then Elizabeth added, a sudden thought having
flashed through her mind: "He is an excellent man; it is impossible for
us to think more highly of anyone than we do of him; but he labours
under what he considers to be an insuperable disadvantage--he is a
younger son, and therefore not much blessed with this world's goods."

She had hardly finished speaking when the door opened to admit two
ladies, whom she recognized as her aunt's latest protégées.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Anne Steele, before she was fairly in the room;
"quite a cosy little musical party, I declare! Lord! what a pity we have
interrupted the music! We wouldn't have if we'd have known! And here
we've run all the way upstairs--"

Lucy managed to silence her sister, and began a kind of tour of the
room, making formal greetings to everyone she knew, and pausing in so
pointed a way before Mrs. Grant and Mary, that Elizabeth, with great
reluctance, was obliged to introduce Mrs. Robert Ferrars and Miss
Steele. This accomplished, Lucy's errand was allowed to be divulged.

"We are driving out with Lady Catherine in the barouche landau, and she
called here in passing, to say if Colonel Fitzwilliam was in she would
like him to come too and make a fourth," she explained, with assistance
from Anne. "We are not going far," she added for the benefit of the
company in general; "only to Monkton Combe and back before dinner. Poor
Miss de Bourgh is so very unwell to-day she did not feel inclined to
drive out; and my sister and I just happened to be calling in Pulteney
Street as Lady Catherine was starting out, so she was so very kind as to
bring us along."

"It is fortunate," said Elizabeth smilingly, "that my aunt was able to
secure your companionship; for, as I have visitors, I am not sure that I
could spare my cousin this morning." She glanced at Fitzwilliam, who was
impatiently waiting for an opportunity to answer. "No, certainly not. I
am much obliged, but I am not able to come to-day."

Miss Steele's manner suffered from a diminution of sprightliness, even
while she urged on the Colonel the necessity of taking advantage of the
fine weather; but Darcy quietly interposed with: "Is my aunt's carriage
at the door?" Lucy was obliged to admit that it was.

"Shall we go and make your excuses then, Fitzwilliam," he continued, "if
our guests will kindly excuse us for a moment? Will you give Mrs.
Ferrars your arm? Mrs. Ferrars, I greatly regret not being able to
detain you, but I know it would not be kind, as my aunt has such a
dislike to be kept waiting, especially in the open street."

The result of this was, that without quite knowing how it happened, Lucy
and her sister found themselves in the hall again almost as soon as the
waiter showed them up; were in the carriage, and driving away, the
apologies of the gentlemen having been graciously accepted, and Mr.
Darcy was saying to his friend as they returned: "The only way with
these people is firmness; you are much too gentle."

"I don't feel particularly gentle after that interruption," replied the
other, "though you got me out of it very well. My aunt seems to have a
special grudge against me this time. I suppose she is working off her
irritation; well, rather on me than on your sister."

"I do not believe it is that," answered Darcy; "she is, and always was,
a tool in the hands of unscrupulous flatterers. If it were worthwhile,
Elizabeth and I would rush to the rescue; but there is sure to be a
tremendous explosion before long; they will all quarrel violently, she
will come and tell us that they are ungrateful vipers, or something like
that, and next year it will begin all over again with someone else."

"Well!" cried Elizabeth, as they opened the door, "did Aunt Catherine
mind?"

"No, he has got off with a whole skin this time," replied her husband,
"or rather, not quite a whole one, for he has had to pledge himself to
join the expedition to Clifton to-morrow instead."

"I had forgotten that expedition to Clifton," Elizabeth exclaimed in
dismay; "I wish it would rain! But if it did, we should only have to go
another day. Mr. Morland, have you been to Clifton? Oh, do say it will
be quite new to you! You can't? Is there no one who has never been
there? My aunt makes up a party every year, for her newest friends, and
we always do the same things and make the same remarks."

Elizabeth's forecast created much amusement, and Miss Crawford said:
"Everything I hear beforehand of Lady Catherine is very alarming to a
stranger like myself. I shall have to have caught a bad cold before her
reception next week, for I shall not have the courage to appear and
play."

"Oh, no, Miss Crawford, you must appear," said Darcy. "We are all too
bad, with our jokes about her, for really she means to be very kind. But
we have got into shocking ways since my wife married into the family."

"On the contrary, I think I have educated you all admirably."

"You are a privileged person, you see," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Miss
Crawford, will you do us the kindness of playing again? I want to reap
the advantage of the present moment, as the reception is a long way
off."

The lady acceded with willingness, and at the conclusion of her piece
Colonel Fitzwilliam sat down near her and found himself soon conversing
with more ease and enjoyment than he had done for many months. Their
talk was only of the most ordinary subjects; but the Colonel's
simplicity and culture appealed to the best that was in Mary, and he
found in her a ready sympathy, felt rather than expressed. His views of
London life--so pleasant, so stimulating for the greater part of the
year, but the country was better for a permanent home--exactly coincided
with Mary's; and almost to her surprise, she heard herself vehemently
asserting that town might be the place to make friends, but the country
was the place to enjoy them. "You are a lover of country sports?"
questioned the Colonel; "of riding and driving?" Mary answered
enthusiastically, though repressing a sigh at the recollection of her
first riding lessons. Did she ride at Bath? He could recommend her some
good livery stables. His cousin, Mrs. Darcy, did not care for it, else
some agreeable plans might have been made.

Meantime, the conversation was quite as animated in the other group.
James Morland was asking if the ladies were those whom General Tilney
and his son had lately met at dinner in Pulteney Street.

"Yes, you are right," replied Elizabeth. "Did you hear of that
dinner-party?"

"Lady Portinscale told me. I should not otherwise have known, for I
don't see much of the General and Captain Tilney," James Morland
answered with a smile.

"I thought Eleanor told me all was forgiven?"

"Catherine is, but her relations do not pass the censor. Still, it does
not matter in the least, so long as he is kind to her, and I think I may
say he is."

"I suppose he is often at the Portinscales'?" observed Elizabeth.

"Fairly often, but Lord Portinscale contrives that he does not stay too
long; he thinks it worries Eleanor, and, as you know, she is anxious to
take care of herself and go in thoroughly for the cure."

"Dear Eleanor! I am so devoted to her."

"Yes, indeed, one would be; she is the kindest friend anyone could
possibly have. Do you know, Mrs. Darcy, they insist on my having a
sitting-room to myself, where I can read undisturbed, or I can spend my
time with them, just as I like."

"That is a nice arrangement; and you are better for coming to Bath?"

"Yes, a great deal better. I should be able to get to work in a very
short time now, if only" (rather mournfully), "some work could be
found."

"I am sure it can, if you are patient," said Elizabeth kindly. "The very
thing one wants often drops upon one unexpectedly. Do you know our part
of the world at all? You must come and pay us a visit some time; the
Derbyshire air is splendidly bracing, and would benefit you."

Morland said all that was proper, and Elizabeth, who had been trying
unsuccessfully to catch her husband's eye, continued: "We are fortunate
in our Rector at home, and even more fortunate in his wife; they have
just come to Pemberley, and oddly enough, they are related to these very
people of whom we have been talking, but as different from them as
possible."

"Indeed! the Ferrars, or Steele--I have not made them out yet--"

"Mr. Edward Ferrars, our Rector, is a brother of Mr. Robert Ferrars,
husband of the lady in blue. It is rather difficult to keep Mrs. Robert
Ferrars off the subject when she is with us, as she seems to think it
establishes a sort of connection, although they don't visit their
relations."

"Perhaps they will do so now," said Morland, with a slight smile. "It is
your own parish that you mentioned?"

"Yes, it is a fair-sized village that has grown up round the house, or,
rather, round a much older house that formerly stood on the site. It is
such beautiful country, Mr. Morland! You really must see it."

Mrs. Grant came towards Elizabeth to take leave, and they stood chatting
together while Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Crawford rose and joined
them.

"To-morrow, then, at eleven o'clock, you are sure suits you?" the
gentleman was saying. "Mrs. Grant, your sister has been so kind as to
say that, with your permission, I may be her escort on a ride, if a
horse can be found that suits her."

"Riding? She will enjoy that," said Mrs. Grant, with momentary surprise.
"She has not ridden for a long time. We have never tried to get her a
horse in Bath."

It seemed that the whole thing had been thought out--all difficulties
could be got over, Colonel Fitzwilliam assured her, if she would trust
her sister to him for an hour or two; and Mary having expressed a proper
amount of amiability and approbation, the arrangement was confirmed.

"But what about your engagement--the day at Clifton?" Mrs. Grant
unluckily remembered, in the midst of the adieux. Colonel Fitzwilliam
looked as if he were determined to forget the existence of such a place;
Mr. Darcy reproached himself for having furthered the scheme; and Miss
Crawford immediately said: "Oh, pray do not give that up on my account.
We can ride another day, if we care about it."

"Not at all, Miss Crawford. Excuse me, but I should not think of giving
up our plan. It is not at all necessary for me to go to Clifton."

"It would not be fair to make you break a prior engagement. No, let us
put it off from to-morrow," was the lady's response.

Elizabeth interposed with, "If you and Miss Crawford went out a little
earlier, you could still be at Clifton in time for dinner, Robert, which
would quite satisfy my aunt."

Darcy joined his advice to his wife's; and as a matter can generally be
easily arranged by a number of people who are all in favour of it, the
ride was fixed for ten o'clock, and the ladies took their departure
among many promises of meeting again. James Morland shortly afterwards
left, Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanying him as far as his road lay in the
direction of the livery stables; and Elizabeth sat down to write
letters, but she had not got very far before a new idea struck her which
must immediately be acted upon. "Darcy," she exclaimed, rising and going
to her husband, who was occupied with the newspaper, "can you listen to
me? I want to help Mr. Morland in some way. I was thinking about it this
morning while I was talking to him. He ought to have work to do, and he
is such a good young fellow. Could you not make him Mr. Ferrars's
curate, or something?"

Darcy smiled at his wife's earnestness. "You will be surprised to hear,
my dear, that I had already thought of helping him."

"You had? How good of you. You can do it better than anyone else. He
will be an object worthy of your interest."

"But though I had considered the question of the curacy, I had dismissed
it as unsatisfactory. Mr. Ferrars does not want a curate, and Mr.
Morland does want a living. I do not know if I told you that I heard
before I went away that the old Rector of Kympton was likely to resign.
If so, I shall have a living to present."

"And did you think of Mr. Morland? How delightful that would be. The
very thing for him."

"We must not say anything about it at present, for I cannot hurry the
old man out; but I expect to hear in the course of a month."

"I am sure you can bring it about successfully. How well everything is
going to-day! Some dreadful catastrophe is sure to happen soon."

"What else has gone well?"

"Why, Robert's getting on so excellently with Miss Crawford. She is such
a thoroughly nice woman, and it is certain to do Robert good."

"I would not think too much about that, Lizzy. Robert gets on well with
all nice women, and as to Miss Crawford, I should say she is accustomed
to receiving a considerable amount of admiration."

"Nonsense! You shall not spoil my pleasure in it. Why should they not be
friends and nothing more? I took care to do him a good turn too; I told
Mrs. Grant the thing I could about him, namely, that he is not well off.
I knew he would tell them himself, and make the most of it, in that
disparaging way he has, as if it were a great blot on his character, or
some serious personal defect. He has become so diffident the last few
months that I have no patience with him! He does not value himself
properly, and causes people to undervalue him."

"One cannot say that diffidence is a fault of Miss Crawford's other
admirer, Sir Walter Elliot."

"No, the tiresome, dressed-up doll! She is so sensible, that I cannot
understand her having those people for her friends."

"Perhaps she has no choice. Possibly the acquaintance was of their
seeking; she may have made a mistake. Who knows? Even the wisest of us
may sometimes be mistaken in our estimates of one another, may we not,
Elizabeth?"




Chapter IV


The ride duly took place on the following morning, and the circumstances
caused Elizabeth much secret pleasure. Her husband hesitated to attach
any importance to the friendship thus inaugurated, and did not care to
consider the possibilities arising out of it, for the engagement between
his sister and his cousin had been a scheme very near his heart, and
when it failed he was so much disappointed that he could not give up the
idea of Fitzwilliam's being disappointed too. It was difficult for him
to imagine that a man who had lost Georgiana could console himself with
another woman, however talented and charming. It therefore followed that
Elizabeth was compelled to keep her satisfaction to herself, and being
very anxious that nothing should be said to dispel it, she refrained
from giving any account of her cousin when the carriages assembled
before her aunt's door at eleven o'clock. With a warning glance at her
husband, she replied to Lady Catherine's peremptory inquiries that
Robert had an engagement that morning, but he would join them at dinner,
coming over on horseback.

"An engagement!" repeated Lady Catherine haughtily. "I was not aware
that any engagement could have a prior claim, when my party has been
made up for some days. It is very annoying. The result is that you have
an empty seat in your carriage; if we had known, Captain Tilney's gig
would not have been wanted."

"Perhaps Captain Tilney would not mind giving poor little me a seat in
his gig," suggested Miss Steele, who, since she saw that the honour of
sharing a back seat with Colonel Fitzwilliam was denied her, had been
revolving the next most advantageous plan in her mind. Captain Tilney,
who was already in his gig, hoping that his destined companion had not
yet appeared, looked round for a way of escape: but from Lady
Catherine's generalship there was none, and she said, after a moment's
consideration: "Very well, I suppose that must do. I had intended--but
when people are so extremely ungrateful--I sent a note round last night
to Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford, Elizabeth, asking them to join us. They
actually declined. It is not often that I go out of my way to take
notice of strangers--"

"My dear aunt," interrupted Darcy, "had we not better start? We are
collecting a crowd in the street. Miss Steele, may I help you into the
gig? I suppose your sister and her husband will go with my aunt and Miss
de Bourgh. Take care of the wheel. Tilney, your horse looks as if he
were going to leave us all behind. Now, Mrs. Ferrars. It is a good thing
we have a spare seat, you know, madam. Mr. Morland can take care of the
baskets and the wraps. If you like, we can make different arrangement in
coming home."

The carriages drove off, and Elizabeth, in the highest spirits,
congratulated her husband on his disposal of the Steele faction. The
party, however, was not destined to be so successfully divided for the
whole day, and while they were all strolling about at Clifton, in the
hour preceding diner, Elizabeth was taken possession of by her aunt, to
listen to some severe strictures upon her management of the family
affairs.

"I blame you exceedingly, Elizabeth, for not using your influence with
Fitzwilliam. He ought to go about with the rest of us in an ordinary
way, not wander off by himself, heaven knows where. _That_ is not the
way to teach him to forget that affair, which so unfortunately
miscarried under your guidance."

"But, Aunt, we cannot control his movements as if he were a child. He
naturally goes where he likes and makes his own friends."

"His own friends, yes, indeed! Desirable friends they must be, to cause
him to break an engagement with his nearest relations. I think it is
quite time that he were taken in hand by someone who cares as much for
his welfare as I do. Even at his age a man cannot be trusted to know
what is best for himself. I always thought no good would come of it when
you and Darcy took so much pains to throw him and Georgiana together.
Your own family's matrimonial affairs have always been conducted in such
extraordinary lines--"

"We will leave my family out of the discussion, please, Aunt Catherine.
I do assure you that the breaking of Georgiana's engagement was for the
best in every way."

"Of course, I know you feel bound to defend your handiwork, and I am
only too glad to think that my dear nephew has not suffered more than he
has from the effects. Perhaps next time you will agree that he should be
guided by the advice of those older and wiser than himself."

"Certainly, Aunt Catherine," returned Elizabeth, who only endured these
remarks by making allowance for her aunt's disappointment. "Or perhaps
it might be better to let him choose a wife, if he wants one, entirely
by himself."

"I should prefer that he should choose one of whom I could approve, and
that I could be sure, next time an engagement is made, that it is not
likely to be broken," returned Lady Catherine. "When I was a young girl
a betrothal was regarded as a very serious thing, one not lightly to be
cast aside because of a fancied change of feeling."

Elizabeth had begun to wonder how much longer she could bear this
conversation, when the opportune arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam caused
his aunt's attention to be concentrated upon him to the exclusion of
everyone else; and Elizabeth was pleased to observe his contented air
and cheerful manner while he laughingly parried his aunt's
cross-examination, and even submitted to the advances of Miss Steele,
who, delighted to find him more approachable than usual, continued to
address all her remarks to him while they visited the Pump Room and
strolled down towards the river. Elizabeth found herself obliged to pair
off with Mrs. Ferrars, but Lucy, who possessed a considerably larger
share of adroitness than her sister, perceived at once that different
methods were necessary to recommend herself to Mrs. Darcy than to Lady
Catherine, and had for some days been endeavouring to show herself equal
to the standard of elegance required by a young lady. On this occasion
she began by expressing warm enjoyment of the concert a few nights
before.

"Yes," said Elizabeth, "it was a good concert, very much above the
average of those things, I thought."

"Oh, it was charming! I do not know when I have been more delighted!
That exquisite Italian song! The air of it runs in my memory still."

"You must have a good memory, for those florid operatic songs are the
most difficult things to remember."

"Ah, dear Mrs. Darcy, I fear you undervalue your powers. We all know
what an accomplished musician and critic you are." Elizabeth disclaimed;
but Mrs. Ferrars continued perseveringly: "You prefer instrumental
music, perhaps? It is no doubt a sign of a more cultivated taste."

Elizabeth was somewhat amused. "I do prefer instrumental music, but only
because it is the kind I understand best."

"Then of course you appreciated the playing of that young lady, Miss
Crawford. I suppose it was very wonderful. Lady Catherine was much
struck by it."

"I do not know that it was wonderful, but Miss Crawford has a great
gift, and plays with all the feeling and charm one would expect of her."

"You know her well, do you not?" asked Lucy.

"Not very well, but I do hope to know her better."

Lucy meditated upon this: it was not very agreeable news to her; if Mrs.
Darcy saw much of Miss Crawford, it would mean that Colonel Fitzwilliam
would see a good deal of her, too. Lucy felt that after poor Anne's many
failures, success did not look more probable here; and the result of her
reflections was the question: "Is Miss Crawford as rich as they say?"

"I do not know what Miss Crawford's fortune is," replied Elizabeth in
cold surprise. "She and her sister appear comfortably off."

"Oh, I only meant--" began Lucy, confused. "She is said to be such a
great heiress, that I often wonder why she has never married." Then, as
her companion did not speak, she added: "They say that perhaps she will
be the next Lady Elliot, and that would be most suitable, would it not?
_his_ title and _her_ fortune."

"I should not think such a match was very probable, but I scarcely know
Sir Walter Elliot," replied Elizabeth.

Lucy could not help pursuing the subject. "Do you think Miss Crawford
very pretty?" she inquired.

"She is very graceful and sweet looking; and her face has a great deal
of animation, which is always so attractive," answered Elizabeth.

"Her complexion has rather lost its bloom, though, and she is so
unbecomingly thin," Lucy ventured to say.

"I have not remarked it," returned Elizabeth, vexed with herself for
having drifted into anything like an intimate conversation with Mrs.
Ferrars. "Shall we join Lady Catherine? She is evidently wanting to
collect the party. It must be nearly time to start for home."

Lucy saw that she had made a mistake, and covered it as well as she
could by saying: "Oh, but I think Miss Crawford charming, I assure you,
and so talented. I wish we could have heard the harp when we were
calling on you yesterday morning."

"You will have another opportunity of doing so at my aunt's reception
next week," said her companion.

Mrs. Darcy had been quite conscious of the undercurrent in Mrs.
Ferrars's mind during this conversation, for she had perceived the
aspirations of Miss Steele, supported as she was by her sister, towards
Colonel Fitzwilliam; and Elizabeth felt the extreme importance of
preventing any hint from being dropped which might open her cousin's
eyes to the situation, or even to the fact that anyone thought there was
a situation. A word of raillery from Miss Steele, or of archness from
Mrs. Ferrars, would be enough to drive him from Bath in disgust; he
would resent nothing more deeply than the imputation of his paying court
to an heiress, and persons of the Steele kind, Elizabeth knew, would be
able to make remarks of a character most difficult for him to bear. The
friendship between himself and Miss Crawford was at that time in the
stage when a very small incident might affect it one way or the other;
and Elizabeth felt miserably uncomfortable until she found herself
safely at home again, and their little party of three collected round
the fireside in their lodgings, Mr. Morland having been dropped at his
rooms.

"Well, Robert, I did not have the chance to ask you," she began, trying
to speak unconcernedly; "did you enjoy your ride this morning, and where
did you go?"

"I enjoyed it very much, thank you," replied the Colonel, "though we did
not go far, only about three miles on the Wells road."

"That was a pity," said Darcy; "you ought to have had a good gallop on
the downs."

"I wished to do so," said the Colonel, "but I fancied Miss Crawford was
a little disinclined for it. She seemed so much afraid I should be late
in arriving at Clifton and always talking of turning back."

"You must go farther another time," said Elizabeth.

"Yes, I hope so indeed," responded her cousin; "it is perfect weather
for riding, and Miss Crawford is a horsewoman such as one seldom sees."

"Talking of horses, either Tilney is not much of a driver, or else he
took pleasure in frightening that Miss Steele to-day," remarked Darcy.
"You did not see, did you, Robert? No, it was on the way up there. He
let his horse gallop down the long hill--I thought the gig would have
been upset--and the silly girl actually caught hold of one rein."

"I thought Miss Steele seemed very unwilling to drive back with him,"
said Fitzwilliam with a smile. "By the way, have you noticed what a
wonderful girl she is for asking questions? She almost equals my aunt."

Elizabeth felt her fears returning, and inquired: "Did she manage to
find questions to ask _you_, Robert?"

"I should think she did. She was trying to extract from me why I had not
arrived earlier and what I had been doing. I had to admit that I had
been riding, and in some way of her own she dragged Miss Crawford's name
in too. I simply pretended not to hear, and began talking vigorously
about something else. How in the world it can matter to her whether I
was riding with Miss Crawford, or Miss Anybody, I fail to understand."

"She is an inquisitive little minx, and I cannot bear her," Elizabeth
exclaimed emphatically. "Fitzwilliam, do let us go home. I don't like
Bath this year, or the people in it. We can ask the nice ones, like Miss
Crawford and Mr. Morland, to stay with us at Pemberley."

"I am quite willing to return, my dear," replied Darcy; "but it would
not do to leave before my aunt's reception, or to admit ourselves driven
away by a Miss Steele."

"Of course we will stay over the sixteenth, but we will go after that;
it only means a week or two less than our ordinary visit. The
Wentworths are leaving, and Eleanor Portinscale is too unwell for me to
see anything of her, and Aunt Catherine has her extraordinary friends to
amuse her; there is really nothing to keep us. You will come too, will
you not, Robert?"

To this the Colonel made no reply, and Elizabeth interpreted his silence
as her wishes dictated.

The next few days passed without any special event to mark them.
Elizabeth wished more and more to leave Bath, and to be able to persuade
Colonel Fitzwilliam to come too; for she felt an uneasiness that would
not be stifled as to the outcome of the various friendships that had
been inaugurated that year. In particular, she suspected the Steele and
Ferrars faction of making some mischief with her aunt; they were
incessantly with her, and it seemed to Elizabeth that Lady Catherine was
becoming what, with all her faults of overbearing pride, haughtiness and
love of flattery, she had never been before, namely, suspicious of evil
motives and thoughts in those around her. When her nephew and niece were
with her she would question them, and hardly accept their explanation of
their occupations at other times; she blamed everybody for what they
were doing, Mr. Morland for accepting the hospitality of the
Portinscales, Lady Portinscale for not entertaining, Captain Tilney for
not marrying, Anne Steele for wishing to do so, Colonel Fitzwilliam for
coming to Bath, and Georgiana for staying away. Mrs. Grant and Miss
Crawford were criticized for being in such an expensive place; but on
the whole, Lady Catherine said but little about them in a general way,
which Elizabeth regarded as a bad sign, for she was sure, that as
friends of _her_ choice, Lady Catherine must have a great deal to say in
private in their disfavour.

As to James Morland, Elizabeth felt there was everything to be said in
defence of his present situation; but she was so anxious for it to be
known that he was on the way to obtaining work, that she wanted to be at
home, in order to set the necessary arrangements in motion; though her
husband laughed at the idea of the vicar's resigning any sooner, because
the patron happened to be at Pemberley instead of at Bath.

It was, however, in regard to the progressing friendship between Mary
Crawford and Colonel Fitzwilliam that Elizabeth felt most troubled, and
as long as she remained in Bath, most helpless. Mary and Mrs. Grant
would not come and see her more often than she visited them; and
although there were numberless opportunities of meeting at the Rooms,
the gardens, the theatre, and other public places, on these occasions
there always seemed to be something to interfere with the enjoyment of
their little party. Either Lady Catherine was there, with the Steeles,
who could be depended on to break up any rational conversation or other
amusement, or, worse still, Sir Walter and Miss Elliot would appear on
the scene, and assuming the privileges of an older acquaintance, would
take possession of Mary and draw her away from her newer friends with
many protests of "having been _quite_ deserted--of having so much to say
to our dear Miss Crawford, whom we have missed so terribly lately." They
had, of course, a slight previous acquaintance with the Darcys, whom
they had intended to become intimate with at one time, as people of
fashion; but to Miss Elliot's intense chagrin, Mrs. Darcy had been quite
unresponsive to her, and had instead formed a friendship with her
younger sister, Mrs. Wentworth. Although the Wentworths and the Darcys
were frequently together, Elizabeth could not well confide her
difficulties to Anne, when it was so evident that Sir Walter Elliot was
another admirer of Miss Crawford, and not at all evident in which
direction the lady's choice would lie! It was hard to believe that she
could find true pleasure in the company of Sir Walter, with his tedious
inanities, or of Miss Elliot, with her artificiality and pride, and yet
at times she seemed to greet them almost with a heartiness, and be glad
to join them, even though she might have been a moment before in
conversation with the Darcy party and showing them her real self in a
charming and spontaneous gaiety. But those who watched closely might
have noticed that these times coincided with the appearance of Lady
Catherine, who, on seeing her nephew Colonel Fitzwilliam, usually
endeavoured to detach him from the group he was in and to join him to
her own. He, on his part, was always most unwilling to relinquish the
society of Miss Crawford, but she gave him no chance to do otherwise,
gliding away with a pleasant word of farewell before Lady Catherine's
insistent "I want you, Fitzwilliam, if you can spare me a _few_
moments," made itself heard. He had no key to her behaviour; sometimes
it seemed to him as if she really liked him, and as if he might venture
to hope he could make her like him more; and then, again, Sir Walter
Elliot was so frequently at her elbow, with the compliments and
gallantries which seemed to be his native language, and were so foreign,
Colonel Fitzwilliam thought, to himself, that, naturally diffident,
distrusting his powers to charm and attract, he often felt as if it were
hopeless even to think of becoming a suitor; while at the same time his
deepening love for Mary compelled him to persevere.

Elizabeth perceived some part of all this, and longed to help; but there
was something about Mary's reserve that made it impossible to win her
confidence, or to do anything more for Colonel Fitzwilliam than his own
powers were able to do for him. Mary never gave him what could be
construed into the smallest encouragement; it was only by observing that
with him she seemed to be able to talk more naturally, to express her
real opinions more frankly, that Elizabeth could surmise his interest in
her to be in the slightest degree reciprocated. Had it not been for the
very strong liking Elizabeth had formed for her new friend, she would
have been disposed to think that her cousin's happiness would best be
furthered by separating him from a pleasure that might become such great
pain. But after a conversation with him, in which he briefly admitted
his growing attachment and the existence of his hopes, she could not
advise him to give up the quest, and could only assure him of her
sympathy and belief in Mary's being a prize worth winning. He confessed
that he felt it was doing a wrong to Georgiana to indulge in such
thoughts so short a time after leaving her, and reproached himself with
his presumption in thinking that so brilliant and admired creature as
Mary could have any warmth of feeling for "a battered old soldier like
this," as he styled himself. Elizabeth tried to reason him out of these
scruples, and to give him all the good counsel that her knowledge of his
character suggested. She found that he did not believe he had at present
the remotest chance of being accepted; he only hoped, while they
remained in Bath, to win his way in Miss Crawford's esteem, and to be
assured that she had no preference for any other man.




Chapter V


Elizabeth was anxious to see as much of Miss Crawford as possible before
their departure from Bath, which was now fixed for the 17th of April,
the day after Lady Catherine's reception. She accordingly made an excuse
to walk down to Mrs. Grant's house on the day before with the piece of
music, which it had occurred to her might be arranged with a setting for
the harp; and she found Miss Crawford in and alone. Mary was wearing her
bonnet and cloak and was wrapping up a parcel when Mrs. Darcy was
announced; and the latter exclaimed that she would not stay, as Mary was
just going out.

"No, no, I am not--it does not matter--I was only going to take this
parcel to Miss Elliot's--pray sit down, Mrs. Darcy--I can send it by the
boy"; and recalling the servant, Miss Crawford handed him the package
with directions to take it to Camden Place. Then returning, she threw
off her cloak and said: "It really does not signify in the least; it is
only a fan Miss Elliot lent me a few evenings ago--as an excuse, she
said, for seeing me again when I brought it back." This was spoken with
a slight blush, but on Elizabeth's repeating her regrets she exclaimed:
"Oh, but I would much rather stay and talk to you. I so seldom see you
alone; one seldom does see anyone alone in Bath, I think. What have you
brought? Some music? How delightful! You will play it to me now."

Elizabeth explained her scheme, and Miss Crawford examined the piece
with great interest, and presently declared she thought it would make an
admirable duet. As she walked across the room to the harp, Elizabeth
remarked: "If you like it, we might play it to-morrow night at my aunt's
reception."

Miss Crawford appeared to be busily tuning the strings of her harp, and
it was after a moment's pause that she replied: "I do not think we shall
be at Lady Catherine's reception."

"Not be there!" repeated Elizabeth, concealing her dismay as best she
could. "I am very sorry for that; we shall all be sorry not to see you
there."

"Thank you," returned Miss Crawford, and seemed unwilling to say more.
Elizabeth, however, could not bear to leave the subject at that point,
and after a few moments suggested that if Mrs. Grant did not feel equal
to going, she herself would be delighted to call for Miss Crawford and
take her to Pulteney Street.

"You are very kind, Mrs. Darcy, but it is not that," said Miss Crawford,
at length turning round and showing a countenance expressive of some
embarrassment. "The truth is," she continued, "and I know I can speak it
to a friend like yourself, that I don't think Lady Catherine really
wants such very small rushlights as ourselves in her firmament of
glittering stars. She cannot be said to know us; she has not called here
since I was introduced to her at that concert, and only sent us a note
late one evening asking us to come next day to Clifton. I do not in the
least mind being invited only on account of my music, but, as Frances
and I always agree, since I am not paid in money, I must be in manners.
Oh! I beg your pardon--" she stopped short, colouring and biting her
lip--"I should not have said that. Lady Catherine has, of course, a
perfect right to do as she likes. I daresay she has long forgotten
having given me an invitation."

"My dear Miss Crawford," exclaimed Elizabeth, whose colour had also
risen, "say no more; you quite put us all to shame. Was there ever such
an ill-mannered family? Of course, I thought that my aunt had sent you
and your sister an invitation in due form. You must let me take all the
blame to myself, for having omitted to remind her; we had talked, we had
assumed all this time that you would be at the reception, which must
account for my unpardonable forgetfulness of what should have been an
early and most pleasurable duty."

Miss Crawford tried to laugh the matter off by saying that it was in no
respect Mrs. Darcy's fault, and that the whole thing was too trifling to
deserve a moment's consideration; besides, she added, Mrs. Darcy had
presented her sister to Lady Catherine on one occasion, and could not
have done more; that she was sure she and Mrs. Grant would not be missed
at such a large party, and that she hoped to have other opportunities of
meeting Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.

"It is because I fear there will be so few more in Bath, owing to our
departure for home, that I am so particularly sorry to lose this one,
and also for the cause of it," returned Elizabeth. "I can quite enter
into your feelings, Miss Crawford, but will you do a very kind and
generous thing, and show that you have forgiven me by availing yourself
of my aunt's invitation if she tenders it in a manner you can accept?"

Miss Crawford could not be persuaded to give a definite assent to this
proposal; she tried to treat the matter of her going to the party or
staying away as no consequence, and laughingly protested that she would
send the harp alone, which would answer all purposes as far as Lady
Catherine was concerned. The utmost she could be induced to say was: "I
should be very glad to give _you_ the pleasure"; and with this Elizabeth
was obliged to be content. Nevertheless, Elizabeth was so extremely
desirous of securing Miss Crawford's presence, partly in the hope that
Lady Catherine might be more kindly disposed to her on a closer
acquaintance, and partly in order that Colonel Fitzwilliam might be
enabled to enjoy her company without fear of interruption from the
Elliots, that on leaving Mrs. Grant's house she hastened at once to
Pulteney Street, trusting to find Lady Catherine alone and disposed to
listen to her errand. In both these objects she was successful; for
though the inevitable Miss Steele was in the house, she was upstairs
with Miss de Bourgh, and Lady Catherine having just had a disappointment
in hearing that some old friends found themselves obliged to quit Bath
before her reception, was in a mood to demand Elizabeth's sympathy and
to discuss matters connected with entertainment.

"It really is exceedingly trying," she said. "I am not prepared for
these annoyances. At my age my friends should take care to spare me
them. I am convinced that Lady Alicia Markham's son is not so ill but
that he could have done without his mother for another two days."

Elizabeth condoled warmly, and listened to a description of the
arrangements for the evening, in which, it appeared, Mrs. Ferrars's
help had been invaluable; and when Lady Catherine named the musicians
she expected, Elizabeth took advantage of the opening thus afforded her,
by suggesting that a more formal invitation should be sent to Miss
Crawford, to ensure her presence.

Lady Catherine stared, and in a tone of offended surprise reminded her
of the first meeting with Miss Crawford. "You were present, I recollect,
Elizabeth, when she was introduced to me, and I gave her the opportunity
of bringing her instrument on this occasion."

"Yes, I remember its being mentioned," said Elizabeth, "but I hardly
think she took it as an invitation. I fancied you meant to follow it up
by calling on her and her sister."

"I may have had some thoughts of doing so," returned Lady Catherine
haughtily; "but in the end I decided that I did not choose it; I cannot
take up with all the new young ladies who come to Bath, and least of all
those who are talked of as much as she is. She is the greatest flirt
imaginable: that foolish old beau, Sir Walter Elliot, and half the men
of Bath are running after her."

"No, indeed, dear madam; you have been misinformed, and I must defend
her," said Elizabeth with more earnestness. "She is not in the least a
flirt, and though men may run after her, they receive no encouragement
to do so. But if you do not like her, there is no more to be said. Now,
whom could you get in her place? I do not know any other lady, but there
is a man at the theatre who is said to play the harp tolerably well."

Lady Catherine was silent for a moment with anger; then she broke out,
as Elizabeth had expected: "There is no one I can get in her place. The
impudent girl! She should be glad to come to a house like this. Probably
she is intending to come all the time, if the truth were known; how can
you tell she is not?"

"Only that when I last saw her she distinctly said that she and her
sister had no reason to think themselves expected."

"No reason! when with my own mouth I said, 'I should like you to come
and play at my house on the sixteenth.' Nothing could be clearer. As to
her sister, if that is the very ordinary-looking person whom I believe
you presented to me one morning, no, I do not recollect saying anything
to her; but it is not she who plays the harp."

"She is a very agreeable and cultured woman, widow of a Canon of
Westminster, and Miss Crawford goes nowhere without her."

"Well, it is all extremely annoying, and I do not know when I have been
so upset. You should have told her, Elizabeth, told her plainly that she
was to come. Really, the airs these people give themselves! Here is a
card; I will write their names and send it round this afternoon, and I
hope after that we shall have no more nonsense."

This by no means satisfied Elizabeth, and the next ten minutes were
spent by her in using every means of persuasion she could think of to
induce her aunt to repair all previous omissions by going to visit Mrs.
Grant and conveying her invitation in person. Lady Catherine at first
resisted the proposal indignantly, and would have continued to do so but
for her knowledge that Miss Crawford's music was to have been an
attractive part of the evening's entertainment, and an uncomfortable
recollection of having told many of her friends that they would hear a
person scarcely known, in whom she had discovered some remarkable
talent.

This she did not betray to her niece, and when the latter left the house
it was without having secured a definite promise, but Elizabeth felt
she had said as much as she safely could, and she walked home, pondering
on what had passed, and wondering uneasily whether what she had done had
been a real kindness to Mary. This question was also raised by her
husband, to whom she had related the affair on her return. He shook his
head over it, and gave it as his opinion that as his aunt had been rude
to Miss Crawford, and the latter was fully conscious of it, they would
not meet in a spirit conducive to future good feeling.

"But it would have been worse," said Elizabeth, "if Aunt Catherine had
counted on Miss Crawford's coming and she had not appeared. There would
have been no healing the breach then."

"Would it have greatly signified if there had been a breach?" inquired
Darcy. "But never mind, my dear, you have done your best, and it will be
interesting to see the result of Aunt Catherine's efforts at
conciliation--the first time she has ever appeared in such a role, I
should think."

Strangely enough, Lady Catherine's efforts were successful enough,
although no one ever knew precisely how she accomplished it. But it was
partly accounted for by the fact that she saw Mrs. Grant alone, Miss
Crawford being out. She had taken only her daughter with her, not
choosing that Miss Steele should be a witness of an interview which was
undoubtedly galling to her pride; and Mrs. Grant, realizing but a small
part of the great lady's insolence towards her sister, and the nature of
Mary's resentment of it, only perceived that Lady Catherine was anxious
to have them at the party, and was willing to acknowledge any remissness
in her manner of issuing the invitation. Lady Catherine was so relieved
at not having to apologize directly to the object of her dislike, that
she became, in the course of the interview, more and more
condescendingly gracious to Mrs. Grant, whom she found, as she
afterwards remarked to her daughter, an amiable, unpretentious person;
and actually admitted that she ought to have called sooner, but the
pressure of engagements in Bath at this period of the season was so
great. The call was strictly limited to a quarter of an hour, and Mrs.
Grant described it all to Mary when she came in with much spirit and
humour.

Mary, on hearing that her sister had actually accepted, was inclined to
be defiant, and to declare that she would have a headache and not go; of
course it was kind Mrs. Darcy's doing, but she did not care to accept
favours thrown at her at the eleventh hour like this, by ill-tempered
old ladies who only wanted to make use of her. Mrs. Grant, whose pride
in, and love of, her sister were unbounded, and who delighted in seeing
her shine by means of her beauty and talents, had great difficulty in
persuading her; in fact, when they met the Darcy party at the Lower
Rooms the following morning, Mary still declared that her coming was so
doubtful that it was not worth while to give Mrs. Darcy the trouble of
learning the duet.

Elizabeth, however, felt fairly confident of seeing her there, and
Colonel Fitzwilliam confirmed this by telling Elizabeth with a cheerful
glance that "she had not actually said she would not go." Their hopes
were realized by the arrival of the two sisters, Mary looking lovely and
sparkling in white with a few fine jewels, the gifts of her devoted
brother. Elizabeth, who had arrived some time earlier, happened to be
near her aunt, and so was able to satisfy herself that their reception
by their hostess was properly courteous, if not cordial. Lady Catherine
even took the trouble to mention the name of her daughter, who stood
close by, and Miss de Bourgh actually exerted herself so far as to make
two separate curtsies, though the remark that it was a cold evening was
taken out of her mouth by Anne Steele, who was standing next to her, and
evidently considered herself included in the introduction.

Elizabeth saw with delight that Colonel Fitzwilliam was impatiently
awaiting his turn after these formalities should be over, and that he
immediately placed himself by Miss Crawford's side. They seemed to have
much to say to one another; and Elizabeth, after greeting the two
ladies, and giving Mary an expressive glance of gratitude which conveyed
much more than her quiet remark: "It was kind of you to come," began to
converse with Mrs. Grant until music should be demanded of Mary.

Elizabeth was very well amused in watching the arrival of the guests,
and in noticing which of them were under the special patronage of the
Robert Ferrars, who appeared to have brought into Lady Catherine's
circle a number of individuals of about the same standing in the world
of fashion as themselves. Robert Ferrars was in his element, as though
he found entertaining in another person's house a much more satisfactory
matter than when the trouble and expense had to be incurred by himself,
besides having the advantage of being able to introduce his friends to
an earl's daughter as their hostess. When all who were expected had
arrived, he, in company with a showy-looking young man, dressed in the
extreme of fashion, began strolling about the rooms in search of someone
upon whom they could make an impression. Elizabeth thought that she and
her husband might at least have escaped Mr. Ferrars's civilities; and
great was her surprise when the young men paused before her, and Mr.
Ferrars begged leave to introduce his friend Mr. Yates, who had newly
come from London. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he thought, might be interested to
meet Mr. Yates, in view of their intended journey, as Mr. Yates would be
able to give them all information as to the state of the roads.

Mrs. Darcy had scarcely made her curtsey and was about to frame some
suitable reply, when the glance of the newcomer happened to fall on Mrs.
Grant, who was seated on a low chair close by. He immediately pronounced
her name in tones of questioning surprise, and when she looked up,
exclaimed: "Yes, I was sure it was. Upon my word, madam, I take some
credit to myself, considering the length of time it is since we met. I
hope I am so fortunate as to recall myself to your remembrance?"

"You are very good, sir," replied Mrs. Grant, with a perceptible effort.
Her countenance expressed no great pleasure at the encounter. "Of
course, I recall you perfectly. Mrs. Yates, I trust, is quite well."

"Very well, I thank you, madam; and I hope the same may be said of your
fair sister, Miss Crawford--but perhaps she is no longer Miss Crawford?"

"Don't be under any alarm, Yates," struck in Robert Ferrars; "she is
still Miss Crawford, and you can judge for yourself how well she is, for
you will see and hear her to-night."

This speech was so offensive to Mrs. Grant that she cut short Mr.
Yates's compliments, and remarking, "Yes, I am glad to say my sister is
still with me," rose and prepared to move away. Elizabeth immediately
suggested that they should go in search of some tea, and the dismayed
Mr. Yates saw Mrs. Darcy departing before he had uttered a single word
about London, or about the distinguished people he had dined with the
night before last.

"Well, I'm very sorry, Ferrars," he replied to his friend's reproaches;
"I'm sure I didn't want to talk to Mrs. Grant at all, but seeing her was
the greatest surprise; I never dreamt of meeting her here, and, of
course, I had to speak a civil word, or she would have thought it so
strange."

"My dear fellow," retorted Ferrars, "what on earth did that matter? I
should have thought you would understand that Mrs. Darcy is the person
to make yourself agreeable to here, not Mrs. Grant, who is only a
clergyman's widow. I suppose, as you knew her before, that she lived
down at that precious dull place in the country, where you took your
wife from."

"Yes, she did," answered Mr. Yates; "but there's a good deal more in it
than that--not through her. Do you mean to say that sister of hers is
really here, going about in Bath?"

"Of course she goes about; why shouldn't she?" demanded Ferrars. "Is
there anything against it? The women are all down on her, I know--you
should hear my wife and sister--but only because she's such a devilish
pretty girl and proud; she won't have any friends but the Darcys."

"But do you actually not know? Have you never heard all about her and
her brother? Between the two of them they managed to lead my wife's
family a pretty dance. Neither of them can ever show their faces in
Mansfield again, so it was a lucky thing the Grants moved when they did.
To think of meeting Miss Crawford again! I shall tell her that Edmund
Bertram is uncommonly well and prosperous, and Tom Bertram isn't married
yet; and you see how she looks when I do it."

This amiable intention was frustrated, as Elizabeth, who could readily
see that Mrs. Grant was disturbed by what had happened, did not need
even the hint dropped by her that she hoped Mary would not meet Mr.
Yates, as he was connected with the Bertrams, and all that part of her
life that it was painful to her to remember, in order to make her strive
in every way to protect Mary from any disagreeableness. They went to the
tea-room, whither Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mary had, fortunately,
preceded them some time before Mr. Yates's appearance. They were there
joined by Darcy, and all five formed a happily conversing group. Mrs.
Grant whispered a word to her sister, whose countenance changed for a
moment; but she shook off the cloud and gave herself up to the delight
of the present. Once Elizabeth received a message from her aunt
requesting her to "make Miss Crawford play now," and she escorted her
friend back to the music-room and did not leave her after the
performance until she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam safely stationed beside
her. No command to play a second time followed, rather to Elizabeth's
surprise, but having a number of friends to take leave of, she could not
give it much thought before her own departure, which her husband had
insisted should be an early one, in view of the journey on the following
day.

Mr. Yates did not, in fact, come near any of this little party during
the rest of the evening, but might have been observed conversing
earnestly in a quiet part of the room with Lucy Ferrars and her sister,
who, judging by their rapt attention and animated countenances, found
what Mr. Yates had to say deeply interesting; so much so, in fact, that
when his narration was finished the two young women, having faithfully
promised to repeat no word of what he had told them, took the first
opportunity of slipping away unostentatiously in the direction of their
hostess; and having drawn her aside, with a hint of having something
very important to communicate, poured into her ears that whole story
just heard, a story which, as may be imagined, lost nothing in their
version of it. Lady Catherine was so exceedingly angry that her
instantly expressed desire was to have both Mr. Yates and Miss
Crawford--the latter being, of course, the heroine of his tale--brought
before her, with some confused idea in her mind of proving to the world
at large that her dislike of Mary Crawford had all the time been well
founded; but Lucy's extreme terror of the consequences of this act and
her part in it, while Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were there to protect their
friend, caused her to implore Lady Catherine to suspend pronouncing
judgment till the following day. There would still be plenty of
opportunities of meeting Miss Crawford, Lucy assured her patroness. Lady
Catherine would make no promises. Only the necessity of attending to her
other guests, she replied, delayed her from informing Miss Crawford of
her strong disapproval. She would not appear to condone such conduct as
Miss Crawford's had been one moment longer than she could help. Lucy and
her sister thought it safest to mingle inconspicuously with the crowd
until the storm should break over some other heads.

Meantime, Elizabeth and her husband had made their farewells to most of
their friends, and were exchanging a few last words with Mrs. Grant and
Mary. The latter looked unusually lovely, and an expression of quiet
happiness illumined her countenance. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not allow
himself yet to adopt the easy manner of an intimate friend, but the
earnestness of his glance towards Mary, the eagerness with which he
obeyed her slightest request, betrayed the state of his feelings, and
his air and manner were those of a man whose thoughts are wholly
pleasant.

"I am so sorry that this is really good-bye," Elizabeth was saying, "but
I am consoled by thinking it is only for a little while. You will keep
your promise and come to us this summer, will you not?" Mary Crawford
and her sister repeated a cordial acceptance, and the former added: "You
must tell us exactly how to come, Mrs. Darcy, you must explain all the
intricacies of travelling between Brighton and Derbyshire, or we shall
undoubtedly be lost on the road."

"Brighton! Shall you come from there?" and it was explained that the
ladies generally spent the months of June and July at some seaside
place, and Brighton had been thought of for this year. "Or we may be in
London with my brother," continued Mary, "but wherever we are, if you
remember to ask us, we shall come."

The usual protestations of the impossibility of forgetting followed, and
very warm handshakes were exchanged; then Elizabeth, turning to her
cousin, said: "Are you coming home now, Robert? It will be most
unfriendly of you not to, for how else shall we see you again, since you
positively decline to go with us to-morrow?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam hesitated, and said he had not thought of going home
just yet; but Mary interrupted him by saying: "Pray don't let us keep
you, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I am sure our coach will be there now, if you
would kindly inquire. Colonel Fitzwilliam was so kind as to wish to put
us into our coach," she added to Elizabeth, "but it would not be worth
while, just for that, to prevent him from driving home with you and Mr.
Darcy."

"I will go and see, certainly," said the Colonel, moving off; "but
don't wait for me, Elizabeth. I would just as soon walk back, and I will
see you and Darcy at breakfast."

Darcy drew his wife's arm within his, and they made their way to Lady
Catherine, who was sitting very upright in an armchair and wearing her
most stern and forbidding expression. To Elizabeth's civilly-worded
thanks for all the kindness and pleasure which their aunt had bestowed
on her relatives during their stay, she made no reply; but when
Elizabeth referred to their departure on the morrow, she started, placed
her hand coldly within her niece's for a moment, and said: "Yes, you are
going, I recollect. You did not consult me in the matter, but still,
perhaps this year it is as well you are not staying longer."

Elizabeth was too well accustomed to her aunt's insolent speeches to
seek to account for them, and turned away; while Darcy, remarking, "Yes,
we have stayed as long as we care to for this year," also shook hands
with his aunt, cutting her rather short in the midst of a statement that
she could send no message to Georgiana, and without further delay
escorted his wife downstairs.

Mary Crawford watched them from the room, and then said to Mrs. Grant:
"Let us go and say good-night also, Frances. We may as well be
ready--and there will be the harp to be carried down."

"Very well, my dear," returned her sister. "We shall have to take our
turn, for everyone else seems to be preparing to leave at once."

They approached Lady Catherine, and when after a few minutes they
reached her side, to their surprise she addressed them in a more stiff
and stately manner than usual. "Ah! Miss Crawford! I was awaiting you.
Will you kindly come this way?" And she preceded them towards a small
library, where card-tables had been placed, but which was now deserted.

Mary was not the least apprehensive of harm, and even whispered
mischievously to her sister: "Perhaps she is going to present me with a
fee!" so that her astonishment was unbounded when Lady Catherine, having
closed the door, turned to her and exclaimed in a voice shrill with
anger, which she did not attempt to control: "As this is probably the
last time we shall meet, Miss Crawford, you will allow me to inform you
that I have been entirely under a misapprehension in inviting you to my
house, and that I very much regret having done so." The two sisters
gazed at her, both silent from surprise, and Lady Catherine made haste
to continue: "I see you are on the point of asking me what reason I have
for coming to this conclusion. I do not care to enter into particulars;
it must be sufficient for you that facts have come to my
knowledge--facts which, if you search your memory, will no doubt--"

Mary had by now found words, and she broke into Lady Catherine's speech
in a voice that distress and wounded dignity caused to tremble: "I was
not on the point of asking you why you propose to forbid me your house.
In that matter my decision had anticipated your wishes. But I have a
right to ask the meaning of this insult; even your ladyship will hardly
refuse to inform me of what and by whom I am accused."

Lady Catherine drew herself up still further, and said: "I repeat that I
do not care to enter into particulars. I have no wish to say anything
that may be injurious to you in your future life. The facts which have
come to my knowledge are facts which you must be well aware are damaging
to yourself and any member of your family--only in a lesser degree to
you, Mrs. Grant. I shall repeat them to no one. I only wish you to
understand our acquaintance is henceforth at an end."

Mary scarcely heard the last words; she had turned to her sister, who
seemed quite overwhelmed and could only say, almost indistinguishably:
"That dreadful Mr. Yates! I feared--I feared--"

"Frances, dear Frances, do not give way, I implore you. Do not let her
make you unhappy. What does it matter about Mr. Yates? The truth cannot
harm either of us." Then, confronting Lady Catherine once more, with
head proudly thrown back, she demanded: "Now, madam, in justice to my
sister, if not to me, will you kindly state what Mr. Yates has told
you?"

Lady Catherine, who had expected a shamefaced attitude, was unprepared
for this counter-attack, and replied after some hesitation: "It is
evident that you know Mr. Yates has something to tell."

"Certainly, we know exactly what Mr. Yates knows," retorted Mary with
spirit, "but what he may have told your ladyship is quite another
matter. Will you tell us, or are you disposed to wait for the presence
of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy? A message from us would cause them to postpone
their journey to-morrow."

The taunt was a well-judged one; Lady Catherine felt its truth, and
anxious not to involve herself more deeply, she exclaimed: "Mr. Yates
has not spoken on the subject to me; it is sufficient for me that he has
told others, upon whom I can rely, the whole story of your brother's
disgraced connection with that married woman, with whose dishonoured
name I will not sully my lips--is that the true, or is it not? You say
the truth can do you no harm."

"The fact is true," replied Mary, who had grown very white.

"Oh, Mary, Mary!" exclaimed Mrs. Grant, "let us come away now that we
know the worst."

"No," answered Mary, who was retaining her calmness by a great effort,
"we will not deprive Lady Catherine of the pleasure of telling all she
has heard."

"And you express no contrition, you shameless, you bad-hearted girl?"
broke out Lady Catherine, giving rein to her anger. "You think it can do
you no harm to have all known of that shocking affair, which alone
should make you shun the society of respectable persons, but beyond and
above all that, there are your own intrigues with the two brothers of
that wretched woman, one of whom you enticed away from the girl to whom
he was attached, and your own flirtations here, which I will not enter
into, but which I have watched taking place under my very eyes--"

"That will do, I think," said Mary, raising her hand. "You can have
nothing further to say. You have insulted us in every possible manner. I
only hope, Lady Catherine, that by this outrage you will consider
yourself to have taken ample revenge."

"How dare you speak so to my poor sister?" demanded Mrs. Grant, wrath at
last overmastering her distress. "If you only knew the real truth of the
matter--if you only knew who had suffered and who was to be blamed!--God
forgive you your wicked thoughts and your poisonous tongue!"

"Hush, hush, Frances!" interposed Mary, drawing her sister away. "Do not
try to convince her. She is not worth it," and the two sisters left the
room and walked with fairly firm steps downstairs, where they procured
their cloaks, and Mrs. Grant was able, by drawing down her hood, to
conceal the traces of her emotion. Mary directed a servant to bring her
instrument downstairs, and they awaited it within the cloak-room. A few
minutes later the servant knocked at the door, asking for Miss
Crawford, and both ladies hastened forward, expecting the announcement
of their coach, but Mary drew back on encountering the pale and anxious
gaze of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and hearing his eager words: "I feared I
had missed you--that you had gone--I searched for you through the
rooms--and then I heard you were with my aunt. Is anything the matter,
dear Miss Crawford? I fear there is something."

"It is of no consequence, thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she replied,
speaking with cold pride. "You are come a little too late to be of any
assistance. I see the footman has brought my harp, so if you will kindly
allow us to leave the house, that is the most you can do."

"I implore you not to speak so, dearest Miss Crawford," he exclaimed,
though keeping his voice low on account of the persons standing round.
"Is there nothing I can do, nothing I can put right? I could, I am sure,
if only I knew what had happened."

"Lady Catherine can best inform you of that," returned Mary in icy tones.
"May I again request that you will ask for our carriage?"

"One moment only, and I will not detain you," he said hurriedly. "May I
call on you to-morrow, at an early hour? Pray give me permission."

"I shall not be at home to-morrow," answered Mary, and swept proudly
past him towards the front door, where a footman had just announced:
"Mrs. Grant's carriage stops the way."

"Mrs. Grant!" exclaimed Colonel Fitzwilliam, placing himself beside that
lady as she followed her sister, "you will allow me to come and see you?
I will not torment your sister, but--you will not close your door on me
without at least explaining the reason for this dreadful change?"

"Oh, Colonel Fitzwilliam!" exclaimed Mrs. Grant, with difficulty
controlling her agitation, "if you knew all, you would not expect me to
receive you; but I cannot altogether refuse, only I must have time to
reflect, to consider--and my sister must be my first care."

He could only bow and acquiesce; and he assisted her into the carriage,
which immediately rolled away.




Chapter VI


Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were dismayed at the haggard aspect of their cousin
when he joined them at breakfast the next morning. He looked like a man
who had not slept, and whose wakefulness had some distressing cause. To
their inquiries he replied by giving as brief and quiet an account as he
could of the incident of the preceding evening. Elizabeth exclaimed with
consternation when he described Miss Crawford's manner to him at the
door, but refrained from making any comment until he had related how he
had gone in search of his aunt, to obtain, if possible, an explanation
from her. He had had to wait some time, until all but one or two of the
guests had gone and he could be alone with her, but she had been most
difficult to talk to on the subject; when reproached with her treatment
of Miss Crawford and Mrs. Grant, she had admitted that perhaps she did
speak rather severely to Miss Crawford, but the latter's attitude had
annoyed her; that everything she had said was fully justified, and she
was perfectly convinced that Miss Crawford was a most undesirable
person, and one she should never have had in her house.

"Good heavens! can such things be said without impunity?" exclaimed
Elizabeth. "What did you say, Robert?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam replied that he hoped he had controlled his temper,
but it had been no easy matter. His aunt would not even substantiate her
charges, and only referred to the shocking conduct of Miss Crawford and
her brother towards a family called Bertram, adding that though this
information had only just come to her ears, she believed that in London
it was common property. Needless to say, her nephew's assurances that
whatever the brother might have done Miss Crawford herself was
absolutely innocent of any wrongdoing whatever, had not the slightest
effect. Neither was she able to perceive that upon no basis but a shred
of vulgar gossip she had done a vile thing in attacking and defaming two
guests under her own roof.

"That made her more enraged than ever," continued Colonel Fitzwilliam;
"she said it was not vulgar gossip, but a well-founded fact; and though
she evidently was under a promise not to reveal the source of her
knowledge, the word Ferrars slipped out once, so I was assured of what
in fact I had guessed before, namely, to whom we owe this whole
abominable affair."

"It is most deplorable," said Darcy gravely. "We can never regret it
enough. I am sorry for you, Fitzwilliam, and still more sorry for Mrs.
Grant and her sister, but I do not see that there is anything to be
done, beyond apologies from all who are in any way connected with my
aunt. It must be talked of as little as possible, for Miss Crawford's
sake. The Ferrars will do their mischievous part; and it must be the
duty of her friends to take it for granted and ignore it; there is a
modicum of truth in the story, I suppose?"

"I do not know, or wish to know, anything about it," began Fitzwilliam,
but Elizabeth interposed eagerly: "I can tell you all there is to know.
I heard the story, if you can call it so, from Anne Wentworth only the
other day: but I did not mention it again, for there is no use in
reviving these things. It is true that Miss Crawford's brother ran away
with Mrs. Rushworth, who had been Miss Bertram. He had treated her very
badly before her marriage, gaining her affections and then showing her
he did not intend to marry her. Mary Crawford had been on terms of
friendship with the whole family, and one of the brothers, a young
Bertram, had paid her attention. Naturally, the scandal of the divorce
separated the two families; and I suppose ill-natured people can find
some reason why Mary should be blamed for it, but I know of none."

"How came Mrs. Wentworth to be acquainted with these events?" asked
Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to pay little heed; he rose from the
table, leaving his untasted breakfast.

"Because they have a great friend, a naval officer, young Lieutenant
Price, who is also connected with the Bertrams; his sister married one
of the sons. In fact, she was adopted by the family as a child, and
would naturally know all its affairs. I suppose the Ferrars got their
information from that Mr. Yates who was there last night; I do not know
anything about him, but I will ask Anne Wentworth."

"You know my advice, which is, as little said as possible," was Darcy's
reply; and he crossed to the window, to lay his hand on his cousin's
shoulder, and say warmly: "Do not take it too much to heart, my dear
fellow. On reflection, Miss Crawford, when she is a little less upset,
will see that you are not to blame, and Mrs. Grant, who is evidently a
sensible woman, will take the right line when she has had time to think
things over."

"I hope so," returned Colonel Fitzwilliam; but very little hope was
expressed in his voice or bearing.

"I wish we could stay another day or two, to do some good in this
miserable business," exclaimed Elizabeth. "We might even now put off
starting."

"No, Elizabeth, we could hardly do that, and it would not be advisable,"
said Darcy, with decision. "None of us could make my aunt's peace with
these ladies; and if we have to make our own, as well as Robert his, we
can do it better by letter. By the way, Robert, how do you stand with my
aunt?"

"We parted in anger, I fear," replied Fitzwilliam; "it was inevitable,
after the argument we had had. It is immaterial to me; she knows now
that I am an advocate for Miss Crawford, and she will consequently not
expect to see me again."

"In spite of what you say, Darcy, I do think we might do some good,"
Elizabeth interrupted. "Let us countermand the carriage. We can easily
tell the landlord we wish to keep these rooms till Monday."

Fitzwilliam begged his cousins not to put themselves to such an
inconvenience on his account; and Darcy being also unwilling to change
his plans at the moment when the carriages were driving to the door
Elizabeth was obliged to give up the idea, which she did with greater
reluctance through feeling that had she not persuaded Miss Crawford to
go to Lady Catherine's reception, this disaster would not have occurred.
Revolving in her mind plans for the future, when all the parties
concerned should be removed from the influences at work in Bath, she
continued her preparations for departure; and when all was ready, and
the luggage placed on the vehicles, she walked downstairs with Colonel
Fitzwilliam, speaking words of consolation and encouragement to him,
promising to write to Miss Crawford from their first stopping-place, and
urging him to wait patiently and not be deterred by Mary's being
reluctant to see him again for some time after her very painful
experience. He promised not to give up hope, but feared that this might
cause him to lose the ground he had gained.

"You are very good, Elizabeth," he said, as they shook hands. "Whatever
happiness comes out of this I shall owe to you. But it is beyond what I
can expect. There never was much reason why she should look at me, and
now, if she connects me with this wretched affair, there is less than
ever."

Elizabeth once more earnestly begged him to take a more cheerful view,
and immediately afterwards she and Darcy started their long journey
northwards; and their cousin, having exchanged a few words with James
Morland, who had walked round to the hotel a few moments earlier to take
leave of his friends, returned to his own rooms and to the thought of
Mary Crawford, which, indeed, was never absent from him. His eagerness
to be with her once more was only exceeded by his desire to protect her
fair name against the danger which threatened it; and in spite of
Darcy's advice he came to the conclusion, after long thought, that he
was justified in going first to the Ferrars's and then, if necessary, to
Mr. Yates, to demand that whoever was responsible for the calumny should
retract it. He did not wish to pose as Mary's champion until she had
given him the right to take a warmer interest in her than he might yet
assert; but as he could not in any case have failed to be aware of the
insult last night, and as he was at the same time Miss Crawford's friend
and Lady Catherine's nephew, he felt that he could do no less than
endeavour to right the wrong himself, having been unsuccessful in an
appeal to his aunt, which seemed the most direct.

He accordingly repaired at once to the Ferrars's lodgings, the address
of which had been given to him by Anne Steele on one of the many
occasions on which she had begged him to call there--a request hitherto
ignored; and as soon as he was shown into the room he perceived that his
two errands would be accomplished in one, as Mr. Yates was sitting with
the Ferrars and Miss Steele. Fitzwilliam would neither shake hands nor
take the offered seat, and addressing himself to Ferrars and Mr. Yates,
he requested, in a tone as calm and deliberate as he could make it, that
they would immediately and unreservedly withdraw all the accusations
they had brought against Miss Crawford, and would furthermore go to Lady
Catherine and make to her the same complete denial of their previous
statements. He was careful to utter Miss Crawford's name as seldom as
possible, and refrained from demanding an apology to be made to her
personally, as he felt the greatest delicacy about appearing to act on
her behalf, and could judge also that it was not the unkind talk, but
the insult from her hostess, that had given her such deep offence. He
found his present task an easier one than he had expected; and had his
heart been lighter, he could have derived amusement from witnessing the
kind of turmoil which his words immediately created amongst his hearers.
Neither Robert Ferrars nor Mr. Yates was of a quarrelsome disposition;
they were alike in living only for trifles, and in being of an idle,
careless, gossiping nature, tolerably good-humoured when it did not
interfere with their pleasure or comfort. At that moment the matter of
greatest importance to them was to set themselves right with this
extremely distinguished gentleman, who came to them with an air of such
authority; and they hastened with the utmost zeal to assure and protest,
to deny, regret or explain away whatever might have happened to annoy
any friend of his.

Robert Ferrars, who, beyond listening eagerly to the story, had had
nothing to do with the affair, was not long in discovering that his wife
and her sister were really responsible for the mischief; and both he and
Mr. Yates bitterly reproached the ladies for having broken their promise
and carried Mr. Yates's information to Lady Catherine. Anne Steele's
composure was not proof against this attack, especially in the presence
of her admired Colonel Fitzwilliam, and she found a burst of tears the
most convenient resource, but Lucy defended herself with spirit, and
declared that she had only told Lady Catherine what it was right for her
to know, as certainly her ladyship would not wish to receive Miss
Crawford if half of what Mr. Yates had said was true. This produced a
renewed flood of eloquence from Mr. Yates, who denied in the handsomest
manner having said anything to Miss Crawford's disadvantage, and wound
up by boldly asserting that she was a lady for whom he had the greatest
respect; that she could not help the faults of her brother, and that as
for Edmund Bertram, everyone considered that it was _he_ who had treated
her badly, "hanging round her always and never making her an offer--we
none of us knew what he could be at."

Colonel Fitzwilliam intimated that he did not wish to know any of these
particulars; that he was come simply because he had learnt that Lady
Catherine, in consequence of what she had heard, had been led to treat
her guests with great injustice--injustice was the strongest word he
would allow himself to use--and that, for everyone's sake, it was highly
necessary for her mind to be disabused of all false impressions. Mr.
Yates, when it was made clear to him, professed himself perfectly ready
to go to Lady Catherine and give her what he termed the true facts, and
he heartily supported Colonel Fitzwilliam in the latter's request that
Mr. Ferrars should accompany him. Mr. Ferrars looked from his friend to
his wife, extremely ruffled and uncomfortable; Lucy was reduced to such
a state of anger that she could scarcely speak; but Mr. Yates speedily
recovered his usual state of easy _insouciance_ and volubility, and was
the only one of the party able to walk with Colonel Fitzwilliam to the
door and usher him out with many bows and smiles and promises to wait on
him in the course of a day or two to tell him the result of his
forthcoming interview. Mr. Yates was not a man who could long be
disconcerted by anything; and he probably looked forward to his scene
with Lady Catherine as one in which he could play a leading part.

Colonel Fitzwilliam walked away, smiling for a moment at the thought of
the storm of mutual recrimination that was going on in the room he had
just left; he feared that what he had achieved would be of little use,
for his aunt would be much more desirous of believing the first version
than the second. Everything depended now upon the effect of his own
influence upon Mary and her sister--upon whether he could succeed in
atoning to them to any extent for what they had suffered. He greatly
distrusted his own powers, and walked to their house in the deepest
dejection of spirits.

The servant said the ladies were at home, and he waited for some time in
the drawing-room. Mrs. Grant's countenance, when at last she appeared,
was not such as to reassure him. She did not ask him to sit down, and
remained herself standing at a little distance while she explained,
briefly and formally, that her sister was not at all well, and was
unable to receive visitors. Colonel Fitzwilliam's heart sank at this
confirmation of his worst fears. He hastened to reply that he knew he
could not have expected her to be willing to see any member of his
family after what had happened the night before, but that he brought the
sincerest, most heartfelt apologies on his own behalf and that of his
cousins. He was only too sensible that nothing he could say could
obliterate the memory of the treatment to which Mrs. Grant and her
sister had been subjected, but he had been endeavouring to right the
wrong, and hoped that "when Lady Catherine should be brought to
acknowledge--"

Mrs. Grant here interrupted him. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, I must tell you
plainly that it is not of the slightest use to mention that lady's name
to my sister or myself. I know you mean very kindly, but the harm is
done now, and nothing Lady Catherine can do or say can repair it. I do
not wish to go into the whole matter, it is too unspeakably painful; but
if you had been aware of the language she used towards us, you would see
that it is not a thing which can ever be forgotten--I had almost said
forgiven."

Colonel Fitzwilliam admitted it fully. He told her who were the real
authors of the calumny, as far as regarded Lady Catherine, and he could
guess how she had been incited to anger, and how she must have spoken,
even though he had not been present, and he repeated that Lady Catherine
would be enlightened, and would regret as much as anyone having spoken
so hastily; but none of this had any effect on Mrs. Grant. She gradually
realized Colonel Fitzwilliam's anxiety to spare her and her sister pain,
and thanked him for what he had endeavoured to do; but concluded by
saying that she sympathized with her sister in feeling that all
intercourse between the two families had better cease.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's dismay was extreme. He felt himself dismissed, but
rallied his energies enough to ask: "But you do not identify us, Mrs.
Grant, my cousins and myself, with everything that my aunt does? Surely
you must know Mrs. Darcy, at least, better than to include her in such a
condemnation?"

Mrs. Grant appeared confused. "Mrs. Darcy has been very kind," she said
hesitatingly. "I have appreciated it."

There seemed a "but" behind this, and Colonel Fitzwilliam gently pressed
for further reasons, when the lady at last said: "The truth is, Colonel
Fitzwilliam, if you will have it, my sister feels--and I, though not
going the whole way with her, do understand her point of view--feels at
present too bitterly about it to be able to judge impartially. She
thinks that she should not have allowed Mrs. Darcy to over persuade
her--that she did wrongly to go to Lady Catherine's on what was
practically Mrs. Darcy's invitation."

"Good God!" broke from Fitzwilliam; "but she does not consider my cousin
in any way to blame for this behaviour of my aunt's?"

"No, certainly not," returned Mrs. Grant; "she blames herself, as I have
said; but she regrets also that Mrs. Darcy took so many pains to induce
Lady Catherine to show us any civility. Lady Catherine disliked us, and
when the opportunity of showing her real feelings arrived, she was glad
to take full advantage of it."

"Mrs. Grant, believe me, it is not as you think," said Fitzwilliam
earnestly. "My aunt is just now entirely in the hands of some
evil-natured and unscrupulous persons, who can make her act in any way
they choose."

"It may be so; I try to think so; but it does not excuse her conduct,"
returned Mrs. Grant.

Fitzwilliam took two or three turns about the room, wrapped in thought.
At length he approached Mrs. Grant, and in tones which scarcely
concealed his emotion, said: "Forgive me, but I cannot take what you
say as final. It is, of course, for you and your sister to decide, but I
cannot think that you mean to cast us off, myself and my cousins, on
account of this thing which has happened, a thing which you know we
deplore as much as we condemn. May I not hope to be allowed to call upon
your sister, if only for a few minutes? not to-day, I know, but
to-morrow, or the next day? Mrs. Grant, I have no right to say anything;
but I think you can guess what it means to me."

Mrs. Grant's countenance softened, and she spoke more kindly than she
had done during the interview. "I will not pretend to misunderstand you,
Colonel Fitzwilliam; but, frankly, my sister would not see you just now,
and it would do no good to anyone if you did see her. Her feelings have
been deeply wounded--more deeply, probably, than you have any idea of.
It would be far better for you not to think of it any more. You are
shortly quitting Bath; we, too, shall be leaving for the summer; and at
some future time we may, possibly, meet again, and be able then to
gather up the threads of our friendship."

Fitzwilliam had turned very pale; for though partly prepared for the
blow, he had hoped for some mitigating circumstances, and Mrs. Grant's
words conveyed to him at that moment nothing but a counsel of despair.
He could not immediately reply, but mastering himself with an effort, he
said, steadily: "I only care for your sister's happiness, and whatever
she wishes shall be done"; then bowed and quickly left the room.

Mrs. Grant, left alone, reflected with an aching heart upon the scene
that had just closed. Resentful though she felt both on Mary's account
and her own, yet she had been a very unwilling bearer of the message
which she had delivered to her visitor. She had liked him, she liked
him still; she had observed with keen pleasure the growing mutual
attraction between himself and Mary, for she considered him _almost_
worthy of that beloved sister. The event of the night before had not
shaken that belief; whoever was to blame for it, she knew it was not
Lady Catherine's nephew; and when she had partly recovered from her
agitation she had tried to persuade Mary to do him equal justice,
knowing well that he would not let the matter rest and that they would
hear from him again. But Mary had been unpersuadable. The shock had been
very great, not only from the incredible insult, but from the sight of
the buried past, risen up again to be an undying reproach to her. All
that she most bitterly regretted, of her own acts and of other persons',
all that she most wished to forget, had been revived in her mind,
exactly at a time when she had allowed herself to think that a new
prospect of happiness might be opening up before her, in the midst of a
set of people and circumstances with which the past should be wholly
unconnected. But now the painful memories had intruded into the present,
and, thrust upon her in a peculiarly galling manner, threatened to mar
and taint the new life. Mary's mind was in a state of too great distress
and tumult for her to see that their power of doing so lay in her own
hands, that she only could let herself fall back into that wretched,
listless, discontented condition from which she had so lately emerged;
she only knew that the old influences had returned, and she was bitterly
angry at the knowledge. In response to her sister's pleading she replied
that she was determined not to see any of them again, they were all
alike, proud and hard-hearted; they patronized her, they made her do
things she did not want to do, and she wished she had never met one of
them. Mrs. Grant ventured to speak a word on Colonel Fitzwilliam's
behalf, but Mary, sore at heart and suffering the more for knowing she
was unjust, replied that Colonel Fitzwilliam meant well, but really he
ought to keep his most terrible old aunt in better order. She would not
confess even to herself, far less to her sister, how much she had
learned to care for the man whom she was now sending away--through
wounded pride, perversity, anger ... she could hardly have told for what
reason.

Mrs. Grant could only endeavour to soothe and sympathize. She saw it was
better not to continue the discussion of the subject, and looked forward
to the lapse of time, and a change of scene and companionship, to
restore to Mary some measure of comfort and serenity.

Of these blessings Colonel Fitzwilliam was in even greater need. He
walked back to the hotel in an agony of mind such as he had never before
in his life experienced. To the pain of his disappointment was added
hopelessness, for he felt that the cause of his repulse lay beyond his
power to remove. She was too deeply offended to see him, or to hear what
he had to say, and as she would not do these things he thought she could
not possibly care for him. And now, completely cut off from her, he had
no chance of ever winning his way. His anger against his aunt remained
unabated; but even were she persuaded to make all the reparation in her
power, he had been told that it would be unavailing; there was nothing
more that anyone could do.

He called his servant, and gave him directions for leaving Bath early on
the following day, then made a pretence of dining, and threw himself
into his chair for an evening of sad and solitary reflection. It was
nearly half-past nine when a card was brought up to him, and it was
with a start of surprise that he recollected he had been promised a
visit from Mr. Yates.

That gentleman, well-bred, easy and talkative as usual, was shown into
his room a few moments later. Colonel Fitzwilliam had never been more
ill-disposed to receive a guest, but this one must be listened to, and
it was a relief when he passed from his compliments and observations on
the weather to the business at hand, which he introduced with an air of
nonchalance, as if he had only just remembered what he had come to say.

"By the way, Colonel," he began, "I was calling on Lady Catherine this
afternoon, and I took the opportunity of mentioning to her that subject
which we were discussing this morning."

"Did you indeed?" returned Colonel Fitzwilliam. "And I hope you were
able to convince her."

"Why, as to that," proceeded Mr. Yates, settling himself more
comfortably in his chair, "I hardly know; I have seldom found a lady so
hard to convince. But wishing to oblige you, my dear sir, I did my best;
in all honesty, I did my best. I explained, as I told you I should, that
she had been quite misled. Miss Crawford was not at all the sort of
person she assumed her to be, and that was very nearly the end of our
conversation; for I give you my word, Colonel, with all respect to her
ladyship, that she became quite violent; declared that she did not want
to hear the young lady's name or another word about her, that she was
tired to death of the whole affair."

"It is probable she would not like to find she had made a mistake," said
Fitzwilliam, as Mr. Yates paused, evidently expecting some comment.

"Well, no; I suppose that was what caused the sting; for it seemed as
though she did not want to have to think well of Miss Crawford, which
could not be so really, you know. I told her what I had said, I mean,
what I had intended to convey to the Ferrars, that I was surprised no
one knew the story about her brother, and added that I could not imagine
how anyone could twist and turn my remarks--merely general ones, made in
no ill-natured spirit--to Miss Crawford's disadvantage. That set her off
cross-questioning me, as to what there was at the back of it all, till I
hardly knew where I was; and I finally had to point out to her that
owing to my connection with the family I could not enter into the
details of its affairs."

He paused again, and Fitzwilliam forced himself to say: "I am obliged to
you for doing what you could, though I feared it might not be of much
avail."

"True enough, I thought it was not going to be, but just at the end, her
ladyship said, evidently with much resentment: 'There must be something
in all this, though you deny it. Why should Mrs. Ferrars and Miss Steele
concoct a story to tell me? Why should it be in their interest to vilify
Miss Crawford? There was no reason why they should make the worst of
what they had heard.' So, of course, in reply to that, I simply told her
the truth: 'My dear Lady Catherine,' I said, 'you ask why; the reason
is, as everyone knows, that Mrs. Ferrars was anxious to secure Colonel
Fitzwilliam for her sister, and both the ladies were very much
disappointed when he paid attention to Miss Crawford instead.' Why,
Colonel, you are looking quite annoyed; don't trouble to protest, my
dear sir; between friends, you know, it is not necessary."

"I wish you would confine yourself to talking of things you know
something about, Mr. Yates," broke out the Colonel in extreme vexation;
"this is not one of them."

"Nonsense, my good sir; not know anything about it! I could not fail to
see what was before my very eyes. Before ever we started for your aunt's
reception last night, Mrs. Ferrars and her sister were talking of you in
a manner as to make me expect that it would be you who would be in
attendance on Miss Steele all the evening--or at all events, that that
was what she hoped for. Of course, I said not a word, but I could see
that things turned out very differently. And if that were not enough,
Ferrars himself told me all about it during the evening, of Miss
Steele's fancy, and what they had planned, and so on. Really, I can
hardly suppose that being as they are, such friends of Lady Catherine's,
she should not have had some idea of it."

Fitzwilliam had not thought that anything was needed to complete his
disgust and annoyance where the whole Ferrars party was concerned; but
this tale of gossip and vulgar intrigue had that effect, and he was
conscious of a strong desire to get rid of his visitor and hear no more
of the whole nauseous affair. He rose, and again thanked Mr. Yates
coldly for the trouble he had taken, and that gentleman, too courteous
not to take the hint, rose also, though with evident unwillingness to
end the conversation, and, drawing near the fire, stretched out a foot
towards the blaze, and continued: "But I must not leave you with the
impression that Lady Catherine was _not_ convinced. On the contrary, I
am inclined to think she eventually was, for her manner quite changed
after what I had told her; she seemed first astonished at it, and showed
considerable incredulity and indignation, asking how anyone dared to
think or say such a thing, though, as I explained to her, sorry though I
was to have given her any unpleasing intelligence, the idea did not
emanate from me. Upon that, she became calmer and seemed to be
reflecting, then thanked me and asked to be excused, requesting me, if I
was going back to the lodgings, to send Mrs. Ferrars and Miss Steele to
her at once. I was not particularly anxious to be her messenger, and I
fancy she saw this, for she called me back and said that it did not
signify, she would write to them instead."

"I have gathered," said Fitzwilliam, "that Mr. Ferrars did not accompany
you on this occasion."

"Oh, Lord, no! I should have mentioned that at first, but it escaped me.
No, I could not persuade him to come. I fancy he had private information
that his wife did not wish it."

"It was a pity, as he might have confirmed your statements, and afforded
further proof to Lady Catherine," observed Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"He might have said something, no doubt, but I hardly think he would
have succeeded if I had failed," was Mr. Yates's complacent reply. "My
dear sir, I think you may sleep easily. If Lady Catherine is not
persuaded of her error now, she never will be. At this moment she is
very probably explaining to the Ferrars how unfortunately they have
caused her to be mistaken."

Colonel Fitzwilliam felt tolerably certain that his aunt was doing
nothing of the kind, and that the interview pictured by Mr. Yates was
turning upon a different subject from Miss Crawford's rehabilitation.
But even if Mr. Yates's explanation had caused the Ferrars to fall into
disfavour, it would not mean that the harm they had done the day before
would be wiped out; Lady Catherine would not be more inclined to forgive
Miss Crawford because her own friends had made her angry. And angry
Fitzwilliam guessed that she must be at the machinations which Mr.
Yates had casually disclosed. It was always particularly offensive to
her, and her nephew could conjecture that even the tact and ready wit of
Mrs. Ferrars would not be able to avert the torrent of her displeasure.
It was but poor comfort to him to feel assured that she would disapprove
of Miss Steele as a possible wife for him, quite as much as Miss
Crawford; and the very idea that such an alternative could have been
thought of was so repugnant to him that he was glad to dismiss it from
his mind. These people had done their worst, and whatever happened now,
they could not injure Miss Crawford any more, or blight his own
prospects more completely.

Mr. Yates having, as he considered, disposed of the subject in hand,
proceeded to others, but Colonel Fitzwilliam contrived to cut him short,
and to hasten his guest's departure, by indicating his wish to make
preparations for his early start the following morning. Mr. Yates was
desolated to hear that the Colonel would actually have left Bath by
eight o'clock. He himself proposed leaving on the morrow; he had come
intending to stay with the Ferrars for a week, but really everything was
so infernally upset, owning to this tiresome affair--he declared Mrs.
Ferrars had as good as called him a liar!--and that he was inclined to
shorten his visit and go straight to his sister's place in Berkshire. He
feared he could not be ready before twelve noon--would not Colonel
Fitzwilliam delay in starting, and accept of a seat in his curricle? The
Colonel regretted it was not in his power, but thought Mr. Yates was
doing wisely in going away; and in his own mind added the
heartily-expressed wish that that well-meaning gentleman had never
come.




Chapter VII


The Darcys travelled slowly, and they had not been at home for long
before a letter from their cousin, who had gone direct to London from
Bath, was received by Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam briefly related what
had occurred after their departure, his application to Ferrars and
Yates, with its more or less successful result, and his totally
unsuccessful visit to Mrs. Grant. He omitted, of course, all reference
to the second part of Yates's conversation with Lady Catherine, and
stated his few facts with the smallest amount of comment, adding that he
was grateful to his cousins for their kindness in the affair, but in the
circumstances he thought it would be better not to return to Pemberley
for the present, but to try to occupy his mind with some work. He had
therefore accepted an offer made to him by one of his brother officers,
to collaborate in writing a history of his regiment; and he proposed to
remain in London, where he would have access to manuscripts and
authorities. Darcy need have no fear that he would not correspond as
regularly as usual, and he would call in at the Hursts' while they
remained in town, so that he would be in continual touch with, as he
said in conclusion, "the best friends a man ever had." Elizabeth sighed
over this letter, but consoled herself presently with the thought that
Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford might possibly be in town during the
summer. Darcy, on the other hand, was well satisfied with it, deeming
that his cousin had acted with perfect uprightness, and he begged
Elizabeth to give up the idea of trying to bring them all together at
some future time. "Fitzwilliam, my dear, is of an age when he can be
trusted to manage his own affairs, as this proves to us," he said to
her.

"I do not think it proves much, except that Aunt Catherine is the cruel
domineering old woman we always knew her to be," replied Elizabeth.
"Poor Robert! to think of his being so abominably treated! Of course a
true, honest man, as he is, was powerless among these insufferable
people, who have not a word of truth amongst them."

Elizabeth indeed felt acutely disappointed at such a disastrous and
unforeseen ending to her hopes. She blamed herself bitterly for her
share in the disaster, and again regretted having persuaded Miss
Crawford to come to the reception. She had written to Mary, according to
promise, at the first opportunity, but not for more than a week after
their return home was an answer received, and then it was a
disappointment, like all the rest; merely a note, brief and tremulous,
acknowledging Mrs. Darcy's kindness and apologies, begging that no more
might be said as to the offence, and breaking off with assurance of the
writer's good-will, but of her inability to express herself at greater
length. The only sign of the real Mary appeared in the postscript, "I
will write again by and by, dear Mrs. Darcy, if you will not mind very
stupid letters." The lines of the note clearly showed the writer's
shaken health, although her pride forbade her to make it her excuse.
Elizabeth was grieved, and felt herself, for the time being, repulsed;
she resolved to send, after a time, a cheerful letter on different
subjects which might re-establish their friendship on new ground, so
that the painful memories which Miss Crawford at present associated with
the Darcy family might by degrees be eradicated.

These anxieties occupying her thoughts, and her time being taken up with
her children and with Georgiana, who had returned to Pemberley in
greatly improved health and spirits, she still did not fail to remark
the absence of any news of Lady Catherine, for she had fully expected a
speedy communication announcing the lady's triumph over Miss Crawford
and ignoring all that had followed it. When her husband, therefore, in
opening a letter one morning, observed that it was from his aunt, she
was prepared for something considerably more disagreeable than its
contents proved to be.

The letter began by announcing Lady Catherine's recent return home with
her daughter, and the extreme pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Collins, and of
all their neighbours, in seeing them again. The worthy Rector and his
wife had come up to Rosings to pay their respects on the very first
evening. Mrs. Jenkinson had not yet come back from her vacation; she had
in fact written to ask leave to stay for another week, which was
excessively inconvenient, as dear Anne depended upon her so much. Anne's
sensibility was indeed very great! She might not have inherited her
mother's strength of character, but she had such warm affections! They
sometimes led her to form attachments to people who proved unworthy of
such devotion. There had just been an unfortunate instance of that
during their stay at Bath.

Darcy, who had been reading the letter out loud to his wife and sister,
hesitated at this point, but Elizabeth urged him to go on, saying that
Georgiana knew all about the Ferrars, and was as anxious as herself to
learn whether their reign was over.

"You and Elizabeth have probably heard something of the regrettable
termination to my reception on your last evening in Bath. The young lady
whom Elizabeth was so obstinately anxious for me to patronize must have
acted at some former time with extreme imprudence, to say the least of
it, though I really do not feel it to be my duty to investigate the
rights and wrongs of the matter; still, the information I received was
so positive, that I was bound to act upon it, and to point out to her
that I regretted having brought her into my immediate circle of friends.
I think I may say that she, or, at any rate, her sister, admitted the
justice of my remarks. There I hoped the matter would have ended, but
immediately afterwards I learned that the very persons from whom I had
received this friendly warning about Miss Crawford had been themselves
acting towards me in a scandalously hypocritical and underhand manner.
You will guess that I refer to the Robert Ferrars and Miss Steele. I
cannot enter into particulars of their conduct; suffice it to say that
for all the latter part of their stay in Bath it has been a continual
course of deception, of nefarious and vulgar schemes for their own
aggrandizement. They have traded upon my kindness, and upon the warm
regard which my poor innocent-hearted Anne displayed towards Miss
Steele, to foster the most impudent designs. Never have I been so
mistaken in people whom I regarded as deserving of my interest, never
have I met with such vile ingratitude. You may imagine that I lost no
time in sending for the whole family and informing them that our
acquaintance was at an end, for the reasons I have given, and naturally
I declined to listen to any defence; Miss Steele was utterly confounded,
but Mrs. Ferrars, seeing that her whole plot was exposed, showed herself
in her true colours; she lost control of herself, and used expressions
more insolent than anyone has ever dared to do in my presence. Indeed,
she was so determined to be heard, that it was only by leaving the room
myself and sending my footman to show them out that I was able to rid
myself of their presence. The man is a mere weak fool; I could see that
by the way he ineffectually tried to control his wife, but even he
seemed to have no sense of the impropriety of her conduct and her
sister's.

"It is easily conjectured that after such a shock as this all enjoyment
in Bath for me was entirely at an end. We should have left immediately,
but that Anne was too unwell, on hearing what had happened, to travel
for another week. My indignation at the whole affair is still beyond
words."

Darcy paused, and Elizabeth asked: "Is that all the letter,
Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes," he replied, "that is, she signs her name there, but there is a
postscript which is evidently intended for your perusal."

Elizabeth took the letter which he handed to her, and read: "Were it not
that out of pure perversity Elizabeth always chooses to act exactly the
opposite to my advice, I should suggest that you proceed very cautiously
in any further dealings you may have with the young lady I mentioned
above." Elizabeth flushed deeply and laid down the letter, but
immediately took it up again and re-read Lady Catherine's version of the
Ferrars's defeat.

Meanwhile Georgiana was eagerly asking: "What does Aunt Catherine mean,
Darcy? She writes strangely, does she not? How can those people have
nefarious schemes or designs against her? She does not say how she knew
they had."

"I hardly understand it all," said Darcy, "but you know your aunt has
often been disappointed in people before, when they have desired more of
her favour than she was prepared to give."

"Yes, she takes great fancies, and then forgets about people," returned
Georgiana, "but she really seems to be dreadfully angry this time.
Elizabeth says that you and she did not like those people, the Ferrars."

"No, we did not, for we considered them undesirable," replied Darcy,
"and whatever reason your aunt has for quarreling with them, undoubtedly
it is well she should have done so."

Georgiana perceived that she was not to hear more about the Ferrars, and
dropped the subject, which, in fact, was what Darcy wished for. It was a
distasteful one to him, for they had aroused his dislike more than most
of his aunt's protégés, and he was glad to hear they had fallen from
favour, without being interested in the reason for it. Elizabeth was
quite aware of this, and accordingly refrained from any further
discussion of her aunt's letter with her husband. She could not forbear
a little private smile over the exposure of the "impudent designs," the
nature of which she had quickly surmised; in the circumstances she
thought they had hardly merited such severe strictures as those passed
on them by Lady Catherine, and but for Mrs. Ferrars's unpardonable
conduct towards Miss Crawford, Elizabeth might have spared her some
pity for the manner of her dismissal from Pulteney Street.

Georgiana took an early opportunity of asking Elizabeth about the
references to Miss Crawford. "That is your friend of whom you told me,
is it not, Elizabeth? I wonder what really happened, and why Aunt
Catherine speaks of her so harshly. It seems very unkind."

"It was very unkind, Georgiana. Of course Aunt Catherine was entirely
misinformed; she listened to some malicious gossip, and was terribly
rude to Miss Crawford at the end of the evening after we left. I heard
about it from Robert, who stayed later than we did. And the worst of it
is, that in consequence Miss Crawford feels deeply wounded, I fear, as
regards the whole family."

"Oh, I am so sorry. What a pity it is. Cannot anything be done? Surely
you will be able to put it all right again some time, will you not?"

"I hope so; yes, of course, I shall do whatever is possible: I should be
so extremely sorry to lose sight of her now."

"She must be charming, from all you say," commented Georgiana, and then
asked rather shyly and with a deep blush: "Did Cousin Robert like her
too?"

"Yes, he liked her very much, I think. You know, she played the harp,
and he is so fond of anything to do with music."

"Yes, I know," said Georgiana; and added, in a low voice: "I remember he
would always much rather have listened to my playing than have talked to
me."

"Do not let yourself grieve, Georgiana," said Elizabeth, kissing the
young girl's fair brow; "you know that Robert has the greatest possible
regard for you, and you will find, next time you meet, that you are the
best of friends."

Georgiana smiled rather sadly; she often felt that she must have not
only fallen in the estimation of a cousin she revered, but that she must
also be possessed of no qualities capable of inspiring affection, and
what was even worse, of no heart of her own to give. Elizabeth
understood her well, and tried often to give her more self-confidence
and to raise her lowly opinion of herself; but though she was growing
less reserved, and more disposed little by little to trust her own
judgments, the old habits of timidity, of reliance on the guidance of
those whom she loved, were still strong in her. Elizabeth would often
refuse to decide a thing for her, but when she was helped to weigh it in
the balance, to judge it by all the standards available, her choice
could always be recommended for discretion and clear-sightedness.

The month of May was now nearly half-way through, and the time was
approaching when James Morland was expected to pay a visit to his
friends at Pemberley. So much of their stay at Bath had been productive
of disappointment, that they looked back upon their acquaintance with
this young man as its one circumstance of unalloyed pleasure. Darcy,
whose regard for him had grown very warm, had received letters from home
which enabled him, prior to leaving Bath, to inform Morland that a
living in his gift would shortly be vacant, and that he would have the
pleasure in offering it to Morland when the time came. This important
communication had been received by the young clergyman with a depth of
joy and gratitude which had increased the Darcys' satisfaction in being
able to assist him. The living, though not a rich one, would suffice for
his needs, as he possessed some capital advanced by his father: and its
situation, in a hilly and bracing country district, made it most
desirable for a person whose health, like his own, had to be
considered. The conversation between himself and Darcy, which had been
very short, had taken place only the day before the latter's departure,
and Morland, still scarcely realizing his good fortune, had hurried
round to the hotel the following morning to repeat his acknowledgments
to both his friends and to make his adieux. There was time only for a
very few words to be exchanged at the house door, and Morland found it
difficult to express himself fluently on a subject which lay so near his
heart, but Elizabeth and her husband set him at his ease with a few kind
remarks, repeating cordially an invitation already given, that he come
and stay with them on the conclusion of his visit to the Portinscales.
Since their return home the resignation of the old Rector at Kympton,
the living in question, had been made public. He was to leave within a
few weeks; so that Morland's visit would afford him, as the
rector-designate, an opportunity of getting to know the place and of
meeting some of his future parishioners. Pemberley was not in the
parish, for Kympton was eighteen miles away, but the link between the
two places had always been strong, and the distance was frequently
bridged, for Desborough Park, the home of the Bingleys, was the
principal house in Kympton Parish, and only a mile and a half from the
parsonage house. Morland's pleasure was extreme on hearing that his
nearest neighbours would be the brother-in-law and favourite sister of
Mrs. Darcy. Next to being within a stone's throw of the Darcys
themselves, it was the best thing imaginable.

Morland arrived at Pemberley late one afternoon, just in time to prepare
for dinner, and was introduced to Miss Darcy when they all assembled in
the drawing-room before the meal. Georgiana's intense shyness generally
caused her to appear at a disadvantage with strangers, but there was
something in the young man's open countenance and pleasing, unaffected
manners that attracted everyone to him at first sight, and they were
soon chatting together completely at their ease. Morland was deeply
interested in everything that he could learn of his future home, and
asked eager questions of his hosts. Georgiana had been so lately staying
at Desborough, and had, while there, so frequently called on old Dr. and
Mrs. Taylor, that she was able to give more particulars of the house and
garden than her brother and sister were able to recollect. The evening
passed quickly away with conversation and music, and Morland learned
that on the following morning the whole party were to drive over to
Desborough Park to dinner, starting early that they might have time to
walk through the village and inspect the church and parsonage as well.

The weather proved propitious, and the drive, through some of the most
beautiful vales of Derbyshire, was agreeable to all, but especially
delightful to Morland, feeling as he did that he was within reach of the
goal he had so long desired--restored health and the power to do the
work he loved amid congenial surroundings. It was in vain that Darcy,
not wishing to raise his hopes too high, told him that the parish was
very scattered and the roads bad, that the climate was exceedingly cold
and the distant cottages were almost inaccessible in stormy weather,
that some of the farmers were people of a very independent way of
thinking, difficult to get on with--he could discover no drawback, only
fresh incentives to throw himself into his task. Elizabeth commended him
for his enthusiasm, but added a sly reminder that he might be
disappointed in the house; large, rambling and picturesque though it may
seem when tenanted by the Taylors and their seven children, it would,
she feared, be an inconvenient residence to a bachelor.

"It will be too big, I have no doubt," responded Morland, "but, you
know, I need not furnish more than a part of it. Besides, I intend, as
soon as I am thoroughly settled to have my sister Sarah to stay with me
if she can be spared from home."

Georgiana was interested in hearing of the sister, and James Morland at
her request gave an account of his home at Fullerton, and of his brother
and sisters, eight besides himself and Catherine, who was now Mrs. Henry
Tilney. Catherine was evidently the favourite--there was a smile and a
lightening of the eye when he spoke of her--he wished it had been
possible for her to come and help him with his settling-in, but they
lived such a great distance away--Woodston was forty miles away from
Bath, quite at the other end of Somerset.

Mr. Darcy's chaise and four rolled through the village of Kympton not
long after twelve o'clock, and paused to put down its owner, his sister
and his young guest. There was so much to see, but Georgiana was an
untiring walker, and intended staying with the gentlemen until the
carriage should be sent back to bring them to Desborough in time for an
early dinner. Elizabeth drove on for another two miles, and was
presently alighting at the door of a handsome modern house built in the
Italian style, and being warmly welcomed by Bingley and Jane, whom she
had not seen for some weeks.

Bingley, on hearing what had become of the rest of the party,
immediately decided to walk down to meet them; and the sisters strolled
into the garden, for the weather was remarkably warm and sunny for that
time of year, and they could venture to seat themselves upon a bench
that was sheltered by an angle of the house, whence a beautiful view was
obtained of the wide-spreading park, with its chestnut trees in full
bloom and clumps of pink and white hawthorns. Desborough was not so
imposing and extensive a place as Pemberley, but it was pleasant and
home-like, and the grounds were particularly delightful, including as
they did an orchard, a shrubbery, and lawns and flower-borders laid out
in a series of terraces which sloped towards the park. The Bingleys took
great pleasure in their garden, and had made many additions and
improvements during the two years of their occupancy.

"I am overjoyed that you are come, Lizzie," began Jane, "for I have so
much to tell and ask. I have not seen you since we brought Georgiana
home, nearly a month ago. You really think she is better?"

Elizabeth warmly assented, and declared that Georgiana seemed in greater
spirits than she had been for many months. Jane anxiously inquired after
Fitzwilliam, and Elizabeth made out as good an account of him as she
could, but as she was naturally not at liberty to mention what had
passed at Bath, she could not perfectly satisfy Jane as to his
well-being. Choosing a safer subject, she talked of Mr. Morland, praised
his modesty, ability and good sense, and repeated her conviction that
the Bingleys would find him a thoroughly agreeable neighbour. Jane
listened with interest and promised every kind of help and support to
the new Rector, who was to come with such strong recommendations; but
she was clearly a little preoccupied, and Elizabeth, seeing this, asked
what news she had to communicate.

"I am afraid it is not very good news," began Jane hesitatingly;
"but--you will have guessed it, I expect--I have had a letter from
Lydia. She is going abroad, Elizabeth, fancy, almost immediately! Poor
Lydia! Wickham's regiment is ordered to the West Indies, and he insists
on her going with him."

"I am not sure why it should be 'poor Lydia,'" returned Elizabeth,
smiling; "you have such a terribly compassionate heart, Jane! I should
think Lydia would like the West Indies very much, though she probably
dreads the voyage."

"Oh, no, she does not think she will like them at all; it is so hot
there, and she cannot bear the idea of being waited on by negro
servants. She says there is only one consolation, very few of the ladies
of the regiment are going; there will not be more than six of them, and
no one as young as herself."

"Since so many are staying behind, I should have thought she could have
arranged to do the same; though I confess I think it is much better she
should be with Wickham."

"Yes, you are right, I believe, Elizabeth; she says she would rather
have stayed in England, and that Wickham declares he does not
particularly want her, only he cannot afford to keep up an establishment
for her at home while he is abroad." Jane sighed. "It is very sad that
they talk like that to one another; I only hope they do not mean it."

Elizabeth preferred to waive this question, and continued: "I suppose
she goes on to ask you for money?"

Jane admitted that this was so, but said that Lydia would need a
suitable outfit for the West Indies, and everything of that kind was
very expensive, it appeared. She added that Lydia was anxious to come to
Derbyshire before she went away, if a remittance for the journey could
be sent, but Jane had not made any response to the suggestion.

"No, I do not think that that is at all necessary," Elizabeth remarked.
"Well, Jane, of course I will give you some bank-notes to send with your
own, on the usual condition that Lydia does not know from whom they
come; but I only wish one could believe that they will be used for
paying debts to the Newcastle tradespeople--of which there are sure to
be plenty. Could you not persuade her to give you a statement of what
she owes? You could then perhaps arrange for some of them to be paid off
first."

"I will try; I will ask Bingley about it; but it is very difficult to
help Lydia the way one would like. She does expect the most
extraordinary things! What do you think of her inviting Kitty to go to
the West Indies with her, my father, of course, paying all expenses?"

"I am past feeling any astonishment at Lydia's demands," Elizabeth said;
"but I hope Kitty had too much good sense even to think such a thing
possible."

"Oh, no, I think she knew it would not be allowed, though perhaps the
idea was tempting to her, poor Kitty! But she had her promised visit
here to plead as an excuse; she is coming, you know, towards the end of
next month."

"It has been arranged, then? I am so glad to hear it; she must come on
to Pemberley, and she and Georgiana will enjoy being together again."

"Yes, indeed; but I hope she will stay with me until the autumn. I
wanted her to have come a little earlier; but she has received an
invitation from some people called Knightley, in London, which she is
very desirous of accepting, and my father sees no objection."

"Yes, I know of whom you mean, I think; they are friend of my Uncle and
Aunt Gardiner's, and live in Brunswick Square."

"I fancy it is not those Knightleys, but relations of theirs; still, we
shall hear all about it very soon, for I am expecting a letter from
Kitty at any moment, to give me her direction in London and to tell me
when she will be ready to leave, for Bingley is to go to fetch her."

"Is Bingley going to town? Then I wonder if it could possibly be
arranged for him to escort Georgiana? Darcy had thought of going, but he
would be very glad not to, if Bingley would not find it any
inconvenience."

"I am sure Bingley would be delighted. She is going to the Hursts', is
she not? I have heard mention of it."

"Yes, Mrs. Hurst and Caroline have both written, begging for a long
visit from her. I do not think it can be for more than a month, as Aunt
Catherine is sure to want her to go on to Rosings when she hears she is
so near. Georgiana does not like being away from home for long, nor do
we like to spare her."

"I can quite understand that. She has such a sweet disposition, such
sympathy, and brightness and intelligence, that it is a joy to have her
companionship. And you have improved her so much, Elizabeth. At one time
I thought her very difficult to approach; but her manners have gained so
much ease and elegance that everyone must be charmed with her from the
first meeting. I often think Fitzwilliam must regret what he has lost."

"My dear Jane, let me assure you for the twentieth time that he does not
regret it, nor can he be said to have lost what he never possessed.
Their hearts were never united; but now you will see that each will
marry happily, and their old friendship will survive unimpaired. If you
had seen Fitzwilliam at Bath, you would have wasted no regrets on him.
Now, shall we walk about a little? I want to discover if your lilacs are
further advanced than ours."

Three o'clock brought back the remainder of the party, and Mr. Morland
was introduced to Mrs. Bingley, and found her a most sympathizing
listener to his enthusiasm over his new home. He was full of plans, and
was interested in everything, from the beautiful little church down to
the honeysuckle growing over the Rectory porch. Darcy had promised him
to have certain repairs and renovations made as soon as the Taylor
family should have quitted the house; and faulty chimneys and new
wallpapers formed topics for a kind of discussion which Bingley
thoroughly enjoyed, and he would have presented his young guest with the
contents of several rooms at Desborough, and the greater part of the
stables, if there had been the slightest chance of his accepting them.

There was not time to do more than begin on these important subjects
to-day, for by half-past four the visitors had to be in the carriage
again; but the proposal that Bingley should take Georgiana on her
journey to London was brought forward and approved of by all concerned.
Bingley was also going to his sister's house, and it was immaterial to
him what day he arrived there, or how long he had to wait in London for
Kitty Bennet. He thought he had heard something about a ball for which
Kitty wished to stay, but was uncertain about the date.

It was decided that their next letters from their relations in town
should determine the time of their departure.




Chapter VIII


Morland was easily persuaded to prolong his stay at Pemberley until his
induction to his new living should take place. This was expected to be
not later than the end of June, for Dr. Taylor was anxious to hand over
his duties to his successor as soon as possible. Morland was by no means
an idler; he spent a considerable part of his time in study, and read
and worked with Mr. Ferrars, helping him occasionally in parish duties.
The acquaintance of these two men, formed directly after Morland's
arrival, promised to ripen into a friendship; there were similarities in
their characters that mutually attracted them, and on the tranquil
simplicity of the life at the Parsonage Morland hoped to model his own.
The Ferrars had so recently arrived at Pemberley, having, as has been
said, exchanged livings with the former incumbent, and left Delaford
shortly after Colonel Brandon's death, that there had not been time for
much intercourse between them and the Darcys, though Elizabeth had been
greatly pleased with what she had seen of Mrs. Ferrars. Since the
former's return from Bath, and after her experiences there of the other
branch of the family, she could appreciate fully the immense superiority
of the Edward Ferrars over their relations. Ferrars himself was too
quiet, diffident, and reserved a man to recommend himself easily, but in
his wife all recognized a woman of a rare and noble nature,
distinguished alike by the sweetness of her character and by its
strength. The Darcys rejoiced in the increased opportunities of meeting
afforded by the presence of their guest, and various walks, drives and
out-of-doors excursions were organized, for which the glorious weather
of early June afforded every opportunity.

The first diminution their party suffered was in the departure of
Georgiana for London, which occurred on the seventeenth of the month.
The visit had long been talked of, and Georgiana really looked forward
with no little pleasure to seeing her old friends, for Caroline Bingley
and Louisa took pains not to show to her, of whom they were exceedingly
fond, the cold-hearted and worldly aspect of their dispositions; but
when she found herself actually in the travelling carriage with Bingley,
with her maid seated opposite, she felt, as she did every year, the
sensation of leaving all that she cared for behind her, and of entering
scenes alarming because unfamiliar. Bingley good-naturedly endeavoured
to divert her in every way, talked of the pleasures awaiting her, and of
the friends she would see in London, Kitty Bennet and Mrs. Annesley,
besides her hostesses, and casually mentioned the possibility of her
coming across Colonel Fitzwilliam. Georgiana had been prepared for this
by Elizabeth, and had first shrunk from the idea; but afterwards became
reconciled to the view put before her, that the first meeting, which
must necessarily be painful, must come some time, and it would be best
to get it over in a crowd, with a few ordinary words of greeting, which
would put them on a comfortable footing for the future. She, therefore,
made an effort to reply cheerfully to all Bingley's suggestions, and had
not found the journey tedious when they drew up in Grosvenor Street in
time for dinner on the third day.

Caroline and Louisa could not make enough of her, and the evening was
spent in talking over the plans they had formed for her amusement, and
in detailing the engagements they had entered into. It soon appeared
that the ball which Bingley had mentioned was on their list; for they
were also acquainted with Mrs. George Knightley, whose entertainment it
was, and had secured invitations from her for their brother and their
young friend. Bingley inquired of the date of the ball, explaining how
it affected his movements; and his sisters endeavoured to conceal their
surprise on hearing that Miss Kitty Bennet was staying with the
Knightleys.

"I thought, when you spoke of coming to fetch her, Charles, that she was
with her uncle and aunt in Gracechurch Street," said Miss Bingley.

"To tell the truth, I was not very clear about it myself," returned
Bingley. "Jane told me that she was going to stay over this ball, but
whether she was with the Gardiners or the Knightleys I did not make out
until just before we came away. It does not make a vast deal of
difference, to my thinking."

"There is certainly some difference; the Knightleys live in Portland
Square, for one thing," replied Miss Bingley.

"Do they? I am glad of that, for it means I shall not have to drive so
far round to pick Kitty up," was Bingley's cheerful answer, and he moved
away to speak to Mr. Hurst, leaving his sisters to their speculations
as to how Miss Bennet could have come to know the George Knightleys.
Georgiana did not know, but conjectured it was through Mr. and Mrs.
Gardiner; and the ladies, though they refrained from showing their
perplexity, were even more puzzled to account for the uncle who lived in
Cheapside being acquainted with such people of fashion.

"Have you seen anything of Fitzwilliam, Louisa?" inquired Bingley of his
eldest sister, when he came to have his coffee-cup refilled.

"Really, Charles, what a foolish question to ask," replied Mrs. Hurst,
with affected carelessness. "Of course we see him frequently when he is
in town."

"Very good; I hope he will come round while I am here, and, if not, I
shall get you to give me his direction, for I must certainly look him up
before I go back."

Mrs. Hurst made a vague answer, for both she and her sister were
sincerely anxious to spare Georgiana any embarrassment, and they would
not of their own accord have referred to Fitzwilliam until they knew how
she was able to bear the mention of his name in public. Caroline
immediately began speaking of another subject, but Georgiana, divining
their intentions, felt that she must not indulge in a foolish
sensibility which might give her friends a false impression of the state
of things; so, summoning all her courage, she said, with a deep blush
but a tolerably firm voice: "Yes, I hope my cousin may be in town this
month. Elizabeth and my brother gave me many messages for him, if I
should see him."

She was conscious that the ladies were looking at her in surprise, but
that Bingley noticed nothing but the amount of milk Louisa was putting
in his coffee was a great help, and Caroline, the next moment, said
quietly: "Oh, yes, no doubt he will call," which made it unnecessary for
Georgiana to say any more. Bingley, having secured his cup, next
produced a notebook and proceeded to write down the address of
Fitzwilliam's lodgings and the name of his club, and, as an
afterthought, the various engagements to which he had been pledged by
his sisters. Georgiana found that Mrs. Hurst and Caroline were anxious
she should go with them on the following day to call in Portman Square
and meet Mrs. George Knightley.

Mrs. Knightley, formerly Emma Woodhouse, had, since her marriage, been
able to enjoy a larger measure of the social power and influence in the
use of which she had always delighted. Since Mr. Woodhouse's death she
had persuaded her husband to go into Parliament, and except for short
visits to Donwell, they now lived entirely in London--an arrangement
which just suited Emma, who had long desired some stir and variety in
her life, after having spent so many unbroken years in a country
village. Mr. Knightley still took the greatest interest in the farming
of his property, and as soon as he was trustee to his sister-in-law,
Mrs. John Knightley, for the estate of Hartfield, which had passed to
her on her father's death, he found as much to do out of London as in
it; while Emma, though fond of Donwell, had grown weary of the
neighbourhood, and took a keen pleasure in forming round her in London a
large circle of acquaintances, whom she loved to entertain, and in whose
characters and careers she took the deepest interest.

Mrs. Knightley's ball had become an annual fixture in the month of June,
and this year she had a special incentive for giving it and for making
it as gay as possible. At her sister's house she had met Mrs. Gardiner,
whose husband had long been a close friend in business of Mr. John
Knightley. Mrs. Gardiner was chaperoning a niece, Miss Catherine Bennet,
a slender, blooming young girl, and pretty without being very striking;
but Mrs. Knightley was impressed with her pleasing manners, and the
enthusiasm with which she received the prospect of a theatre party which
was being discussed on that occasion. It was the work of a moment for
Emma to decide that she must ask her sister to bring Miss Bennet to the
ball; but during the remainder of the evening, while she considered and
observed, an improvement on the first idea suggested itself; Miss Bennet
must be invited to stay in Portman Square for the great occasion. What
better arrangement could there be? Isabella would not want to stay late,
but young girls liked to dance till the last moment, and she, Emma,
would have the benefit of Miss Bennet's help in the preparations, and
would be able to introduce her to her partners beforehand. Yes, Miss
Bennet was certainly very pretty, prettier than she had appeared at
first--such a slim, upright figure, such a profusion of hair, such a
delicate fairness of complexion; she would be a great success! It would
be as delightful as when last year, the girl who was at the ball as Mrs.
Knightley's special friend and protégée had finished the evening
triumphantly becoming engaged to the most eligible man present, Sir
William Manvers. Emma felt a thrill at the recollection. The event had
justified all her admiration for Sophia Lennox, and Mr. Knightley, who
had been so sceptical, had been obliged to admit that sometimes people
did marry those whom one had destined for them. There was no Sir William
Manvers this year, it was true; but Miss Bennet was still young, and
there was plenty of time for the right man to appear. In fact, it was
really only her due that she should be properly taken out in London, in
order that she might have every chance, and this her aunt, Mrs.
Gardiner, was quite evidently not able to give her.

What wonder that the upshot of these reflections was a courteous note to
Mrs. Gardiner, begging for the pleasure of a visit from Miss Bennet as
soon as her stay in Gracechurch Street should be concluded. Kitty was in
transports of happiness when all was arranged and she found herself
actually Mrs. George Knightley's guest, with a ball in prospect, and
each day one round of visits and shopping and other delights, with
intervals only long enough to admit of changing one elegant gown for
another, for her mother and sisters had taken care she should be
provided with an ample wardrobe. She soon ceased to regret not having
been allowed to accompany Lydia to the West Indies, and before many days
were over had discovered a reason to rejoice that she had not gone.

Among Mrs. Knightley's frequent visitors at this time was a young naval
lieutenant named William Price, whom she had met a short time previously
at the house of the same Mr. Yates who had paid a visit to Bath in the
preceding spring. Mr. Yates lived in Cavendish Square, and as his wife
was a first cousin of William Price's, they had begged the young man to
make their house his home whenever he happened to be in London. Young
Price had lately been attached to a ship of the line, the _Andromeda_,
which he had been obliged to put into Portsmouth for repairs, and he had
been employing some of the period of his enforced leisure in taking up a
course of signalling and gunnery, as he was extremely anxious to gain
promotion as speedily as possible; but he had found that it was
necessary to use other means than those of mere hard work, and at the
present time he was living in London, keeping in touch with the
Admiralty and endeavouring to recommend himself to every high official
and person of influence with whom he could contrive to become
acquainted. In the intervals he paid hasty visits to his sisters, who
were settled in Northamptonshire, and to his mother at Portsmouth; and
being a young man of excellent address, great charm of manner and marked
abilities, he had gained a deserved popularity, and could not help
enjoying the gaiety of London life, available to him through the
hospitality of numerous friends. Mrs. Knightley was extremely pleased
with him, and with his next brother, David, who was a clerk in the India
Office, and both young men found it a very agreeable house to come to,
especially when to the welcome of their hostess was added that of a
pretty girl who, warm-hearted and impulsive, did not attempt to conceal
her pleasure in their company.

David Price was two or three years her junior, and in him Kitty Bennet
found only a merry and boyish companion; but the manliness of the young
sailor aroused different feelings, and it was not long before she
realized that the visits of William Price were becoming the most
important thing in her life. She dreamt of him before he came, she had
no eyes for anyone else when he was present, and she treasured his words
when he had gone; and although she could not honestly read into those
words more than a passing friendliness, yet she allowed herself to
cherish hopes that each _next_ time there might be something warmer.
Poor Kitty had secretly longed to be married ever since she was
sixteen; and now at last it seemed as if Destiny itself was working for
her, in placing her with so kind a hostess, who was always giving
invitations and affording opportunities, and in sending her such a
splendid hero of romance to fall in love with, for a hero he was, of a
campaign at sea, when he had distinguished himself as much by bravery as
he had on shore by industry; a hero with good looks, an assured
position, and prize-money saved, and at the present moment with nothing
particular to do but fall in love with Miss Kitty Bennet! It was
impossible not to feel, under the circumstances, that the course of
events was plainly marked out. Mrs. Knightley certainly thought so too,
and although she refrained from definite statements, her sympathetic
attitude encouraged Kitty to talk herself into hope and self-confidence.

The importance of the ball itself in the great scheme of things was not
overlooked, and Emma even dreamt now of a brilliant dénouement like last
year's. She had invited a large number of people, and was anxious to
have as many dancing couples as possible, so Mrs. Hurst's request for
permission to bring her brother and Miss Darcy was warmly acceded to,
and it was only a matter of regret that their friend Colonel Fitzwilliam
could not be induced to go to any balls this season. Kitty was delighted
at the prospect of meeting Georgiana again, and when the call spoken of
by Mrs. Hurst was being paid, on the day following Georgiana's arrival,
she availed herself of a pause in the conversation, and a nod and a
smile from Mrs. Knightley, to ask her friend to come to another room for
a few moments, on the plea of showing her some new possessions.

Georgiana duly admired the bonnets and pelisses, and the gold chain
which was Mrs. Knightley's present, and the rose-coloured ball dress
which was to make its first appearance on the much-talked-of occasion.
Kitty's head was evidently full of this event; she dwelt on it
constantly, and from her quick nervous manner Georgiana guessed at some
kind of special preoccupation with the subject.

"And so you are very happy here, Kitty? Perhaps I need not ask that,"
she said, as Kitty turned to unfold another new muslin gown.

"Oh, very, very happy, perfectly happy," exclaimed Kitty with eagerness.
"Mrs. Knightley is so kind, and such nice people come here, you have no
idea, Georgiana. Now, do look; is not that beautiful? A real India
muslin, and the colour just suits me. You ought to like it, for I bought
it with some money Elizabeth gave me."

"Yes, dear, I do like it, of course," returned Georgiana; "but tell me
some more about yourself. How long were you with the Gardiners?"

"I forget just how long, but I came here on the first of June. Oh, I do
not know how ever I shall be able to leave! Georgiana, I must tell you!
I have been longing to do so, and yet I do not know how I can, after
all, for it has not really happened yet.

"Of course you have guessed," she went on, in answer to Georgiana's
affectionately inquiring glance; "it can only be one thing: but pray do
not mention it to anyone, for no one has any idea of it except Mrs.
Knightley. It is so wonderful! Georgiana, do you believe in love at
first sight?"

"I have never thought about it," answered Georgiana honestly, "but I
should think it might be possible."

"Indeed, indeed, it is possible! It does happen. When you see him, you
will know how easily. You will see him on Tuesday night; I do wonder
what you will think of him. You must be sure to tell me quite
truthfully."

"Dear Kitty, you cannot think how glad I am. You mean you are engaged,
or just about to be?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" exclaimed Kitty, "you do not understand. I think--I
hope--but I do not even know if he cares. Sometimes I feel sure he does,
and then, again, he seems to be perfectly indifferent, and it is so
terrible then, more terrible than you can imagine. But you will see--you
will judge for yourself; I shall depend so much upon you for comfort and
counsel, especially if Bingley asks him to come down and stay at
Desborough, as I mean to persuade him to do."

Georgiana was not much enlightened, and her shyness and natural reserve
made her hesitate to ask questions on such a subject, which, had she
been Kitty, she could not have mentioned to any living creature. But
Kitty was evidently longing for sympathy, and poured out her hopes and
fears and her reasons for both, mingling with them a description of
William Price, painted in the most vivid colours and emphasizing his
courage and distinction as an officer, his amiability as a man, his
perfection as a ball-room partner, and the high opinion Mr. Knightley
and all sensible men had formed of him. Georgiana listened, and was
interested almost against her will; she had known Kitty to take fancies
several times before for persons who had not returned her regard or
thought of doing so; but in this case, from what she could gather, the
young man seemed really to deserve Kitty's enthusiasm; they had met
under Mrs. Knightley's auspices, he had been very often at the house,
and certainly, everything considered, it was much more likely that he
should fall in love with Kitty than not. Nevertheless, she hardly knew
how to answer her; to encourage her in hopes which might prove false
would be the cruellest kindness, so, while, murmuring her wishes for her
friend's happiness, she agreed that she must wait for the evening of the
ball before she could really tell how far Kitty's dreams were likely to
be realized.

They talked so long that eventually she had to propose a return to the
drawing-room, fearing to be guilty of discourtesy towards Mrs.
Knightley; but she was glad that only a moment was left for Kitty's
hurried inquiry about her own affairs, as they hastened down the
staircase, and that she could therefore dismiss the subject with a light
word. Kitty was scarcely satisfied, but finding that Georgiana could not
be induced to speak of Colonel Fitzwilliam, returned to her own
all-absorbing topic with the remark, "I do wish you could meet someone
just like my dear Mr. Price!"




Chapter IX


The next few days passed rapidly for both girls, and were so full of
engagements that they were not able to arrange another meeting, and
Georgiana deeply regretted the fact that, except for a glimpse of her at
the ball, she should not see Kitty again before Bingley's departure from
town. She could only hope that all would go well, and looked forward to
a fuller intercourse in Derbyshire in a few weeks' time. Meanwhile,
there were many friends to see, and Georgiana would have enjoyed herself
thoroughly had she not dreaded the first meeting with Colonel
Fitzwilliam, which she felt hanging over her, since Bingley had called
on the Colonel and reported him to be in town, but which she did not
know when to expect. A slight change in her plans, necessitating a short
absence from Mr. Hurst's house, led her to imagine that it would be
temporarily averted; but on the very day of the ball, when she and her
hostesses had remained at home, and a larger number of visitors than
usual happened to be in the room, she experienced a painful shock on
hearing his name announced and on seeing him walk into the room. Next
moment she was angry with herself for losing her composure, even
momentarily, and bracing herself for a possible encounter, she
endeavoured to continue to bear her part in a conversation with two or
three of Mrs. Hurst's friends, who, she realized gratefully, were
strangers to her until that day. It was some minutes afterwards that she
was aware of Colonel Fitzwilliam approaching her, guided by Miss
Bingley, whose kindly intentions of making the occasion as ordinary as
possible only served to intensify its discomfort. Georgiana, however,
thought the fault all hers, as, not reassured at all by Caroline's
cheerful "Colonel Fitzwilliam was so glad to hear you were staying with
us, Georgiana," she found herself only just able to give him her hand
with an almost inaudible greeting, while her face, suffused with deepest
blushes, must, she felt, have made her noticeable to all around. It was
Colonel Fitzwilliam's part to set her at her ease, which he did, to some
extent with a few kindly and naturally-expressed sentences, inquiring
about her journey, and the health of those she had left behind.

Georgiana presently ventured to let her eyes rest on him, and was
startled to see how much older he looked even in the short time since
she'd seen him, and how ill and worn. A terror seized her heart that she
might be guilty of these altered looks, but it passed in an instant;
there was not any doubt that their parting had been for the good of
both; but poor Cousin Robert, it was plain to see that he had been
suffering, from whatever cause, and her sympathy went out to him
unconsciously, even while she could hardly talk to him from
embarrassment of knowing that Caroline Bingley was standing by,
apparently occupied with other people, but drawing conclusions from
every word she could hear.

"I had intended coming to see you, anyhow, Georgiana," said Fitzwilliam,
"but I am very busy, you know--I do not go out much; and you live in a
perpetual whirl of gaiety, I expect." He smiled as he spoke, and
Georgiana tried to answer in the same spirit, telling him that they had
a good many plans, and people were very kind, but she was not really in
a whirl, in fact, the very next morning she was leaving for Grosvenor
Street for a few days, to spend them quietly with her old friend Mrs.
Annesley, who lived in Hans Place, quite away from the bustle of London.

"Mrs. Annesley?" repeated Fitzwilliam; "of course I remember her; she
will enjoy having you, but how have Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley become
reconciled to parting with you even for a week?"

Georgiana explained hurriedly that it had been quite a sudden
engagement; her old friend had been to see her, and had begged for a
short visit from her, if possible, for Mrs. Annesley was on the point of
going to India, to live with a married son who had lost his wife, and
she might not have the opportunity of seeing her former pupil again for
many years. Georgiana had been happy in the opportunity of going to her
friend at such a time; her present hostesses had acquiesced, and a week
was to be spared to Mrs. Annesley.

"But it will be made up in Grosvenor Street next month, I assume," said
Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"I hardly know--I believe Elizabeth and my brother want me at home again
soon--but of course I like being here too," said Georgiana, stumbling
over her words, and feeling that she was disgracing herself. If only
Caroline would not stand there and seem to be observing them so closely!
She did not believe it would be so distressing to talk to Cousin Robert
if only they could be together somewhere among strangers. This thought
impelled her to ask him, quite at random, for she had every reason to
know what his reply would be, whether he was going to Mrs. Knightley's
ball.

"I am afraid not, Georgiana. I think I am getting too old for balls; but
I wish you a great deal of pleasure there."

"Oh, Cousin Robert, you are not too old, but you--" she checked herself
in this impetuous speech, and ended rather confusedly, "but you look
tired"; which was not what she would have wished to say.

Her cousin glanced kindly at her, but turned her remark off with a
laugh; and as he seemed about to move away, Georgiana, in desperation,
and astonished at herself, said timidly: "I hope we may meet again, even
though you do not go to balls."

"I hope so, too, Georgiana. But of course we shall. I must come some
morning and take you all to Kensington Gardens."

Georgiana felt that this would not be a great improvement on the present
situation, but she could not say any more, and supposed their
conversation was at an end, when Fitzwilliam, who had made a step from
her, seemed struck with a sudden idea, and turned to her again, saying:
"May I come and call on you at Mrs. Annesley's? She will perhaps
remember me and--I may not be in town later on."

Georgiana flushed with surprise and pleasure, and her eager assent left
Fitzwilliam in no doubt as to his reception. He stayed only to assure
himself of the number of Mrs. Annesley's house, then bowed and walked
rapidly away, as Miss Bingley approached with the evident intention of
breaking up their conclave. Georgiana had to submit to a certain amount
of comment from the sisters, who, while condoling with her for having
had to pass through a uncomfortable few minutes, appeared surprised that
she should have been able to talk to Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she
herself felt nothing but happiness in having met her cousin again, and
found it possible to think of being on those terms with him that
Elizabeth had predicted.

She spent a part of the afternoon in writing a long letter to her
sister, telling her what had happened; but she did not like to send an
account of her cousin that might alarm them at home, so she contented
herself with saying that he was not looking at all well, and that she
wished Elizabeth would persuade him to go down to Pemberley, as he must
be working too hard in London. She concluded her writing with the words,
"I will leave this open till to-morrow, dear Elizabeth, that I may tell
you about the ball, and how Kitty looked."

Kitty, indeed, was the chief subject of her thoughts when they dwelt
upon the prospect of the evening, and when the time for dressing arrived
Kitty's rose-coloured silk occupied her mind far more than her own white
satin and pearls. When Mr. and Mrs. Hurst's party entered the ante-room
where Mrs. Knightley was receiving her guests, the two girls managed to
exchange a few words, and Georgiana gathered that the hero of the
evening had not yet appeared, but Kitty was separated from her by the
crowd of arrivals, and so it eventually came about that it was their
hostess who performed the introduction of Mr. William Price to Miss
Darcy.

Georgiana's first thought, when she looked at the noble brow and clear
blue eye of the young man, was that Kitty's attachment was easily
understood, and each moment that she spent in his company strengthened
that assurance. She was desirous of liking him, eager to find everything
to praise in the admired--and perhaps the admirer--of her friend, and
the opportunity came at once in the infectious gaiety and good spirits
of the young man and the unaffected warmth of his manner.

He asked her for the honour of her hand in several dances; but the first
two, she noticed, he danced with Kitty, and from the sparkle in Kitty's
eye, and her quick movement as he approached to claim them, Georgiana
conjectured that the engagement had been made previously.

When Georgiana's turn came, among the excellencies that she discovered
in her partner was that of being a perfect dancer; and, moreover, one
who moved through the set as if he enjoyed every step. Somewhat shyly
she commented on this.

"Yes, indeed, Miss Darcy, I am fond of dancing; I began very early, when
I was such a small person that you probably wouldn't have seen me in a
room, much less have danced with me. We all used to jump about as
children, I believe; and on board ship one somehow managed to learn, so
as to be ready for the balls."

"Were there balls so often?" asked Georgiana.

"Yes; wherever we were stationed somebody always seized the opportunity
to give a ball, either a private person, or the Governor, or the
regiment, or someone. There seems to be a connection established in
people's minds between naval men and dancing; anyhow, as soon as there
were a few days' quiet, someone would produce musicians and a waxed
floor, and we were expected to go and perform. So I decided that I had
better like it."

"You are a very fortunate person to be able to like what you have to
do," said Georgiana, highly diverted.

"It is not a matter of fortune, is it? Anybody can do it," rejoined
William Price. "I am sure you can, Miss Darcy."

"No, indeed; I dislike very much some things I have to do."

"But if you found you positively had to do them, and there was no way
out, then you would decide to like them, would you not? It would make
them so much easier."

This was a new idea to Georgiana, and she considered it a little before
replying, with a smile: "I am sure there are some things I should never
like doing, such as sitting on the back seat of a carriage."

"I know that it is disagreeable to some people, but I am sure, if one
thought long enough, one could find a way to make it less so," said the
young lieutenant, with great earnestness. "For instance"--he
considered--"when the window was open the rain and wind would not do so
much damage to the feathers in a lady's bonnet as if she were opposite;
and at night one could shut one's eyes and imagine one was travelling
forwards--it would be difficult to tell the difference." He looked
inquiringly at Georgiana, who was so much entertained by his arguments
that she said, laughingly: "I was right in calling you fortunate, Mr.
Price, for you seemed to have secured a sovereign remedy against all
ills. Do tell me how 

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