CHAPTER 11
The day appointed for the Meryton assembly arrived with that particular mixture of domestic agitation and public expectation which, in families possessing young ladies, cannot easily be distinguished from importance itself.
Longbourn had been in motion from an early hour; not with the sober regularity of ordinary preparation, but with the restless consequence of a house persuaded that its whole future might, before midnight, receive a direction from which no prudent mother would willingly be absent.
Mrs. Bennet, whose spirits had risen steadily with every fresh rumour respecting Netherfield, had passed from chamber to chamber with an activity that defied both fatigue and contradiction, now approving Jane’s gown with tears of satisfaction, now reproving Lydia for laughing too loudly before she had even left the house, and now entreating Elizabeth, in tones of mingled affection and alarm, not to employ that sharpness of wit which, however entertaining to some gentlemen, might terrify others out of matrimony.
Mr. Bennet, who had retreated to his library during the most tumultuous part of these preparations, emerged at last with the air of a man resigned to calamity because resistance would only prolong it.
He surveyed his daughters with more tenderness than he generally chose to express, his wife with a degree of amusement sharpened by long experience, and the whole expedition with that philosophical indolence which enabled him to enjoy disorder so long as he was not required to govern it.
Yet even he was not insensible to the altered importance of the evening; for Netherfield was no longer an empty house, Mr. Bingley no longer a rumour, and Mr. Darcy no longer merely the formidable gentleman whose name had once belonged chiefly to Rosings and distant Derbyshire.
“You look very well, my dears,” Mrs. Bennet declared, standing back from Jane and Elizabeth with the trembling satisfaction of an artist before a completed triumph.
“Indeed, Jane, I do not know that I ever saw you lovelier; and Lizzy, if you would only refrain from provoking gentlemen into admiring your understanding before they have had sufficient time to admire your face, you might do very well indeed.”
“I shall endeavour, Mama,” Elizabeth replied, fastening her glove with more composure than she entirely felt, “to allow my face the advantage of precedence, though I cannot promise that my understanding will remain obedient if much is required of it.”
“That is exactly what I mean,” Mrs. Bennet almost cried, turning at once toward her husband. “You hear her, Mr. Bennet. She makes a jest of everything, and then wonders why gentlemen are frightened.”
“My dear,” Mr. Bennet returned, “if a gentleman is frightened by Lizzy’s understanding, I shall count it a very fortunate escape for both parties; and if he survives it, we may perhaps begin to consider him with more seriousness.”
Elizabeth, though smiling, did not answer.
Her thoughts had been less easily governed throughout the day than her manner suggested, and though she had resisted every attempt of her mother to attach Darcy’s name openly to her expectations, she could not deny, even to herself, that his promised return from Derbyshire had acquired a consequence wholly disproportionate to the number of days he had been absent.
He had written to Mr. Bennet upon business connected with Netherfield and Kympton; he had informed Mr. Bingley that he intended to be at Meryton before the assembly; and yet all such practical assurances, however reasonable, did not prevent her from feeling, as the hour approached, an uncertainty which seemed less concerned with his arrival than with the manner in which they would meet when he came.
The carriages at last being ready, and Mrs. Bennet having satisfied herself no fewer than three times that Jane’s cloak had been properly arranged, the party set out for Meryton in a state of spirits various enough to have furnished conversation for a much longer journey.
Lydia and Kitty talked incessantly of officers, gowns, dances, and the necessity of standing where one might be first observed upon entering the room; Mary, who had been persuaded with difficulty not to bring a volume of sermons in case the interval between dances should prove morally vacant, delivered several grave remarks upon the dangers of excessive festivity; Jane listened with customary sweetness to all, and Elizabeth, while sometimes joining in the laughter, found her attention wandering repeatedly beyond the carriage windows into the darkening road.
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Meryton was already alive with light and movement when they arrived.
The assembly rooms, though possessing none of the grandeur of Rosings and little of the polish to which Darcy and Bingley might be accustomed in town, had that lively consequence which belongs to a large neighbourhood determined to be pleased with itself.
Lamps glowed against the windows, carriages drew up in irregular succession, servants hurried between doorways, and voices rose in cheerful confusion as families met, greeted, compared intelligence, admired gowns, and inquired with unconvincing carelessness whether the gentlemen from Netherfield had yet appeared.
Mrs. Bennet entered in triumph. She had the satisfaction, almost immediately, of observing that the room was very full, that several mothers looked anxious, that Sir William Lucas advanced with every appearance of ceremonious pleasure, and that Lady Lucas, though perfectly civil, had already seen Jane’s gown and understood its superior elegance.
Such circumstances, though perhaps trifling in another woman’s estimation, were to Mrs. Bennet matters of the highest social importance; and she accepted Sir William’s compliments upon her daughters with an air which suggested that their beauty was at once a private blessing and a public duty.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” Sir William said, bowing with all the graceful redundancy of a man who had never recovered from having once been presented at court, “this is indeed an evening of uncommon promise. Meryton has seldom assembled under more agreeable auspices, and I flatter myself we shall acquit ourselves with a hospitality worthy of our new neighbours.”
“I am sure we shall, Sir William,” Mrs. Bennet replied, with a glance already travelling toward the entrance. “Mr. Bingley is a charming young gentleman, and I have no doubt he will be delighted with the neighbourhood, provided he is not frightened away by too much attention.”
“Attention, my dear madam,” Sir William replied, “is the tribute due to merit, fortune, and sociability. When united, they must expect to be honoured.”
Mr. Bennet, who had come up beside them, observed gravely, “Then Mr. Bingley is to be pitied, for Hertfordshire is preparing to honour him into exhaustion before he has resided among us a fortnight.”
Sir William laughed as if the remark had been entirely benevolent; Mrs. Bennet, who feared her husband might next say something true enough to be inconvenient, hastily directed Jane and Elizabeth toward a group of acquaintances.
Jane was soon surrounded by civil inquiries and gentle congratulations upon Netherfield’s being occupied at last, while Elizabeth received the less gentle but far more searching attention of those who had heard, in fragments, of her visit to Kent, her acquaintance with Lady Catherine, and the mysterious Mr. Darcy whose name had lately begun to circulate with increasing interest through the neighbourhood.
It was not long before Mr. Bingley arrived.
His entrance produced precisely the effect which Mrs. Bennet had anticipated and desired; for he came forward with all the warmth of a man already predisposed to admire everything before him, greeted Mr. Bennet with real gratitude, Mrs. Bennet with cheerful respect, and Jane with an animation which no one in the room, except perhaps Jane herself, could mistake for mere civility.
His sisters were not with him; and though Mrs. Bennet had never yet enjoyed the pleasure of their acquaintance, she nevertheless received their absence with a private satisfaction which she would not for the world have expressed aloud.
Female relations connected to a wealthy bachelor were often inclined to exercise an influence both vigilant and inconveniently curious; and Mrs. Bennet, who preferred Mr. Bingley entirely unaccompanied by stronger guidance than his own good humour, considered the circumstance decidedly favourable, though every feature of her countenance betrayed the triumph she endeavoured unsuccessfully to conceal.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley said, approaching Jane with an openness that would have rendered art unnecessary even had he possessed any, “I feared we might arrive too late for the first dance, and I should have considered it a very poor beginning to my acquaintance with Meryton had I been so unfortunate.”
“You are in very good time, Mr. Bingley,” Jane replied, her colour rising gently beneath his attention. “The room is only just assembling, though I believe everyone has been expecting Netherfield with uncommon interest.”
“Then I am indebted to Netherfield for more consequence than I can personally deserve,” he returned, smiling. “Yet if it has brought me here in time to claim the first two dances, I shall forgive it all the trouble it has already given me.”
Jane accepted with her usual modest sweetness; but the exchange, brief as it was, travelled through the room with all the silent rapidity of important news. Mrs. Bennet, who had watched without blinking, seized Elizabeth’s hand with such force that her daughter was compelled to turn toward her.