Austen Said:

“Oh! Mary,”

“I wish you had gone with us, for we had such fun! As we went along, Kitty and I drew up all the blinds, and pretended there was nobody in the coach; and I should have gone so all the way, if Kitty had not been sick; and when we got to the George, I do think we behaved very handsomely, for we treated the other three with the nicest cold luncheon in the world, and if you would have gone, we would have treated you too. And then when we came away it was such fun! I thought we never should have got into the coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so merry all the way home! we talked and laughed so loud, that anybody might have heard us ten miles off!”

“Far be it from me, my dear sister, to depreciate such pleasures! They would doubtless be congenial with the generality of female minds. But I confess they would have no charms for me— I should infinitely prefer a book.”

It should not be said that the Miss Bennets could not be at home half a day before they were in pursuit of the officers.

to avoid it as long as possible.

The comfort to her, of the regiment's approaching removal was indeed beyond expression. In a fortnight they were to go — and once gone,

there could be nothing more to plague her on his account.

the Brighton scheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at the inn, was under frequent discussion between her parents.

her father had not the smallest intention of yielding; but his answers were at the same time so vague and equivocal, that her mother, though often disheartened, had never yet despaired of succeeding at last.

Mr. Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them;

the unhappiness which her sister's refusal must have given him.

“His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,”

“and certainly ought not to have appeared; but consider how much it must increase his disappointment!”

“Indeed,”

“I am heartily sorry for him; but he has other feelings, which will probably soon drive away his regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?”

“Blame you! Oh, no.”

“But you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?”

“No — I do not know that you were wrong in saying what you did.”

“But you will know it, when I tell you what happened the very next day.”

“This will not do,”

“you never will be able to make both of them good for anything. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of man; and of late it has been shifting about pretty much. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Mr. Darcy's; but you shall do as you choose.”

“I do not know when I have been more shocked,”

“Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill opinion, too! and having to relate such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it so.”

“Oh! no, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing you so full of both. I know you will do him such ample justice, that I am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Your profusion makes me saving; and if you lament over him much longer, my heart will be as light as a feather.”

“Poor Wickham! there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner!”

“There certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it.”

“I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in the appearance of it as you used to do.”

“And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's genius, such an opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind. One may be continually abusive without saying anything just; but one cannot always be laughing at a man without now and then stumbling on something witty.”

“Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now.”

“Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable enough. I was very uncomfortable, I may say unhappy. And with no one to speak to about what I felt, no Jane to comfort me and say that I had not been so very weak and vain and nonsensical as I knew I had! Oh! how I wanted you!”

“How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now they do appear wholly undeserved.”

“Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general understand Wickham's character.”

“Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your own opinion?”

“That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not authorised me to make his communication public. On the contrary, every particular relative to his sister was meant to be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that it would be the death of half the good people in Meryton to attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal to it. Wickham will soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify to anyone here what he really is. Some time hence it will be all found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. At present I will say nothing about it.”

“You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin him for ever. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him desperate.”

Here was knowledge in which no one could partake;

nothing less than a perfect understanding between the parties could justify her in throwing off this last encumbrance of mystery.

“And then,”

“if that very improbable event should ever take place, I shall merely be able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much more agreeable manner himself. The liberty of communication cannot be mine till it has lost all its value!”

Jane was not happy.

a very tender affection for Bingley.

“I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield any more.”

“No, nothing at all.”

“It was a subject which they could not mention before me.”

“I am sure I shall break mine,”

“Oh, yes! — if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable.”

“And my aunt Phillips is sure it would do me a great deal of good,”

the justice of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never had she before been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the views of his friend.

“I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia,”

“Though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older.”