Chapter 10 Mr Bennet
Mr Bennet
How anyone could praise everything so much, Mr Bennet thought for at least the tenth time, is beyond me!
It had been a week since Netherfield’s new leaseholder and his friends had taken up residence in the great house.
It had been a week since the quiet of his library had been daily interrupted, a week since his parlour had been daily cluttered with extra persons, a week since he faced Darcy’s confident bearing and Lizzy’s disappointed expressions.
Worst of all, for days now, his wife’s excited effusions about “such a suitable caller” and “as good as a Lord” had rung through the house almost once per hour.
And then there was the eager man who was apparently wooing his beautiful Jane.
Bingley. What a name!—it did nothing to command respect.
The man ate too much. Even when he was a young man, Mr Bennet had not been able to eat multiple servings of every dish and still look trim. This Bingley fellow could eat his own plus everyone else’s dinners, likely, and yet was slimmer than he himself had ever been. It was positively vexing.
Another thing: the man talked way too much. Mr Bennet found himself longing for the almost-too-quiet Darcy in comparison to the voluble Bingley, who seemed to think that every thought in his head was worthy of expression.
Finally, the man smiled entirely too much. Mr Bennet was suspicious of so much good cheer and so many praises. Was everything pretence with this fellow? Or did he really like every person, every activity, and every dish with equal fervour?
He thought, I really should take the time to write to my brothers, Philips and Gardiner. They could ask around, investigate this Charles Bingley fellow.
Of course, Mr Bennet was too tired to write letters that day. But he promised himself that he would do it soon.