Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time.Having been frequently in company with him since her return,agitation was pretty well over;the agitations of former partiality entirely so.She had even learnt to detect,in the very gentleness which had first delighted her,an affectation and a sameness to disgust and weary.In his present behaviour to herself, moreover,she had a fresh source of displeasure;for the inclination he soon testified of renewing those attentions which had marked the early part of their acquaintance could only serve, after what had since passed, to provoke her. She lost all concern for him in finding herself thus selected as the object of such idle and frivolous gallantry; and while she steadily repressed it, could not but feel the reproof contained in his believing, that however long, and for whatever cause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity would be gratified, and her preference secured, at any time, by their renewal.
On the very last day of the regiment’s remaining in Meryton,he dined, with others of the officers, at Longbourn;and so little was Elizabeth disposed to part from him in good-humour,that, on his making some inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam’s and Mr. Darcy’s having both spent three weeks at Rosings, and asked him if he were acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but,with a moment’s recollection, and a returning smile,replied, that he had formerly seen him often; and,after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man,asked her how she had liked him.Her answer was warmly in his favour.With an air of indifference, he soon afterwards added,“How long did you say that he was at Rosings?”
“Nearly three weeks.”
“And you saw him frequently?”
“Yes, almost every day.”
“His manners are very different from his cousin’s.”
“Yes, very different; but I think Mr.Darcy improves on acquaintance.”
“Indeed!” cried Wickham, with a look which did not escape her.“And pray may I ask--” but checking himself, he added,in a gayer tone, “Is it in address that he improves?Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style?for I dare not hope,” he continued,in a lower and more serious tone,“that he is improved in essentials.”
“Oh, no!” said Elizabeth. “In essentials, I believe,he is very much what he ever was.”
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over her words or to distrust their meaning. There was a something in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while she added,--
“When I said that he improved on acquaintance,I did not mean that either his mind or manners were in a state of improvement;but that, from knowing him better,his disposition was better understood.”
Wickham’s alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated look;for a few minutes he was silent; till,shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to her again,and said in the gentlest of accents,--
“You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy,will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the _appearance_ of what is right. His pride, in that direction, may be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must deter him from such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgment he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart.”
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this,but she answered only by a slight inclination of the head.She saw that he wanted to engage her on the old subject of his grievances,and she was in no humour to indulge him.The rest of the evening passed with the _appearance_,on his side, of usual cheerfulness,but with no further attempt to distinguish Elizabeth;and they parted at last with mutual civility,and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.
When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs.Forster to Meryton,from whence they were to set out early the next morning.The separation between her and her family was rather noisy than pathetic.Kitty was the only one who shed tears;but she did weep from vexation and envy. Mrs.Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her daughter,and impressive in her injunctions that she would not miss the opportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible,--advice which there was every reason to believe would be attended to; and, in the clamorous happiness of Lydia herself in bidding farewell, the more gentle adieus of her sisters were uttered without being heard.
[Illustration:
The arrival of the Gardiners ]
CHAPTER XLII.
[Illustration]
Had Elizabeth’s opinion been all drawn from her own family,she could not have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her father, captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good-humour which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind had very early in their marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence had vanished for ever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of the country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted than as her ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his wife; but where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true philosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.
Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her father’s behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents--talents which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.