Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
A Trifle
Mr. Bingley came to Longbourn more frequently than ever.
His visits, which had once been the delight of the whole female part of the family, were now chiefly important to Jane and Elizabeth.
Jane welcomed him with warmth and shy smiles.
Mrs. Bennet’s spirits could not be restrained within any moderate bounds.
Elizabeth’s amusement, though still considerable, had a new and softer character.
Mr. Bingley entered with a small, beribboned parcel in his hand.
“I hope I am not intruding,” he said, with that open, animated look which always won him immediate pardon.
“I took the liberty of bringing Miss Bennet a little trifle from Meryton. The milliner assured me it was the prettiest new fashion in handkerchiefs. I own I cannot judge, though I thought of you the instant I saw it.”
Jane’s colour rose.
“You are very good, sir,” she said. “I am sure you ought not to have considered me so particularly. You must have had a great many better things to do.”
“The choosing of it was the best thing I had to do,” he replied, with a smile which sufficiently contradicted her scruples. “I shall think myself happy if you find it suits you in the least.”
Mrs. Bennet, from her station behind the tea-table, threw Elizabeth a look of triumph and was only restrained, by that slight motion of Mr. Bennet’s eyebrow which she had at last learnt to understand, from exclaiming aloud on such attention.
Bingley seated himself near Jane and entered with great interest into all that concerned her.
He asked after her health, remembered that she had mentioned a headache on Tuesday, hoped the damp weather had not increased it, and recommended, with all the earnestness of a man wholly ignorant of medicine, a walk upon the high road whenever the sun should appear again.
He enquired after the younger girls and spoke with a quiet firmness of his intention to remain some time longer at Netherfield.
Elizabeth, observing all this, could not be blind to the change.
There was nothing of flutter or surprise in Jane now.
She was composed, yet every word Bingley uttered seemed to have its echo in her eyes.
Her happiness, still shy of being acknowledged even to herself, diffused a gentle brightness over her whole countenance.
The sight gave Elizabeth more delight than she could express, though mixed, she knew not how, with a certain restlessness.
It appeared natural that Bingley should be there, that Jane should be thus attended, that the room should be so warmed by their presence.
The blank which had been left by another guest seemed, at such moments, more sensible than ever.
When Bingley had at length taken his leave, after having been affectionately pressed by Mrs. Bennet to dine at Longbourn on any day and every day of the week, that lady could contain herself no longer.
“Did you see, Mr. Bennet?” she cried, the instant the door closed. “Did you observe how he looked, how he spoke, how he brought the handkerchief with his own hands? If this does not end in what it ought, I shall never believe in anything again.”
“My dear,” said Mr. Bennet, “you have believed in so manythings that have not ended as they ought, that your incredulity would be a great improvement.”
Jane left the room at the first opportunity, more from a delicate wish to escape her mother’s raptures than from any disinclination to hear them.
Elizabeth followed her presently to their own chamber, where she found her standing at the glass, the handkerchief upon the table.
It was a neat white silk, finely worked at one corner with a small spray of myrtle and tiny forget -me-nots.
“Well,” said Elizabeth, seating herself on the bed, “what do you think of Mr. Bingley’s taste in finery?”
Jane turned, with a smile which endeavoured to be only tranquil.
“I think him very good and very attentive,” she replied. “He is always considerate.”
“There you are mistaken,” cried Elizabeth. “He is sometimes inconsiderate. He considers nothing but you.”
“Lizzy,” protested Jane, half laughing, half distressed, “you must not say such things. Nothing is settled. I have no right – indeed, no wish – to expect more than common civility.”
“Common civility does not generally bring handkerchiefs from Meryton in a state of so much solicitude,” answered Elizabeth.
“Still less does it choose one worked over with myrtle, unless the purchaser has some notion of what myrtle is meant to signify. I do not say you have a right to expect, though I wish with all my heart that you may have, but you cannot prevent my seeing what is before my eyes.”
Jane’s colour deepened.
“Whatever may occur,” she said, after a moment, “I shall always think of him with the greatest esteem. He has shown himself everything that is amiable and honourable.”
Elizabeth’s heart warmed.
“He is so, indeed. I shall never be able to like anyone very much who does not like Mr. Bingley.”
Jane looked at her steadily.
“You once said something quite like that of Mr. Darcy,” she said, with a gentleness that robbed the remark of all reproach. “That you must think well of any man whom he could value.”
Elizabeth, taken by surprise, lowered her gaze to hide the flush of her cheeks.
“I was foolish then,” she said. “Mr. Darcy’s judgement was nothing to me.”
“Is it nothing now?”
Elizabeth turned her face away.
“I was mistaken in manythings,” she answered. “That is all I mean to confess at present.”
Jane, with delicacy, attempted no further enquiry.
A few days later, when the weather had again confined them to the house, a letter was brought in from Derbyshire. Kitty, who had been watching at the window for any occurrence that might relieve the tedium of the morning, cried out at the sight of the seal.
“It is from Miss Darcy,” she exclaimed. “I am sure of it. The hand is the same, and there is another little tree in the corner.”
Mrs. Bennet insisted upon its being opened without delay.
“Lizzy must read,” declared Kitty. “Georgiana writes to us all again, I dare say.”
The letter was, indeed, in Georgiana’s hand, though the first lines were shorter and more composed than before. Elizabeth seated herself near the fire and began.
After a few expressions of continued affection and remembrance, there followed the material part.
“‘My brother desires me to add a few lines on his account,’” read Elizabeth, “‘respecting the visit of which he had the honour of speaking to Mr. Bennet before he quitted Hertfordshire. If it should still suit your convenience, he hopes that March may not pass away without bringing Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary to Pemberley. He will write, himself, to fix the exact day, and proposes, if you permit it, to send his carriage and attendants to wait upon you at Longbourn and conduct you hither.’”
Mrs. Bennet’s exclamations interrupted her.
“His carriage and attendants at our door! I shall be distracted. Nothing like it has ever been seen in Meryton. Oh, Mr. Bennet, you must not be economical in your thanks. We shall have to invite all the neighbourhood to see them set out. I shall be in such a flutter, I know I shall forget half the things I ought to say.”
“Compose yourself, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet. “If you forget half, it will be an agreeable novelty.”
Her heart beat quicker, in spite of herself.
The journey was no longer a vague intention.
It had taken shape in days and arrangements, in horses and wheels, in a carriage at the very door she knew so well.
Pemberley, which had lately occupied her thoughts in all states and seasons, came suddenly nearer.
She read on.
“My brother begs me to say that he will take the liberty of troubling Mr. Bennet with the particulars as soon as he has heard from his steward respecting the roads.
He is very sensible of your goodness in suffering your daughters to undertake so long a journey on his account.
He is at present much engaged with business at home and says that he never knew Pemberley to wear a more cheerful look than when he thinks of seeing you within its walls.
Lady Catherine expects him at Easter. He hopes not to be long absent from home this year. He says that he has been enough a wanderer, and that Pemberley will soon accuse him of unkindness if he does not remain to hear all its complaints.”
Jane’s eyes met Elizabeth’s, with a dawning smile.
“He must be very much attached to his home,” she said.
“He is attached where he ought to be,” replied Elizabeth, more warmly than she intended. “He would neglect no duty that belongs to his situation.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had caught only the words “Lady Catherine” and “Easter,” was full of conjectures.
“Lady Catherine! Such nobility!” cried Mrs. Bennet.
“Only consider, my dear girls, what it is for a man of Mr. Darcy’s consequence, with lords and ladies among his nearest relations, to desire your company at Pemberley.
To have daughters visiting in such a house!
I shall not sleep a wink for thinking of it.
It is the proudest thing that has ever happened in our family. ”
When the first ferment had a little subsided, and Mrs. Bennet had gone in search of Hill to discuss the probable number of trunks required, Jane and Elizabeth were left together with the letter.
“It is all handsomely done,” said Jane, looking over it once more. “Miss Darcy could not write with more kindness, nor Mr. Darcy with more consideration.”
“He is exact in such matters,” answered Elizabeth. “He would be ashamed to omit anything that might promote his sister’s comfort.”
“His sister’s comfort,” repeated Jane, with a slight emphasis. “You speak as if you knew him well, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth coloured.
“I know that he is capable of attending to more than one person at a time,” she said. “I have seen him forget himself more than once in thinking of others. That is enough for me.”