Chapter 11
In the carriage going home, Lydia was in the highest possible spirits.
She had been forced to sit out only two dances the whole evening, and had made the acquaintance of three new officers, hitherto unthought-of.
She regaled her sisters with a detailed account of her successes, but they were not a very receptive audience.
Jane and Kitty were both soon asleep. Elizabeth gazed out the window, and Mary played with her gloves, plaiting the fingers together and then untwisting them again, her mind far away.
Finally, piqued beyond endurance by the lack of interest in her conquests, Lydia looked about her, searching for a suitable subject to tease and annoy.
“And what about you, Mary? I saw you standing up with two beaux, though it must be said, one was a schoolboy and the other a shopkeeper. What a triumph for your first outing!”
Mary threw her gloves into her lap, as angered as her sister had hoped she would be.
“At least they were both gentlemen, which is more than can be said for some of the partners you were so desperate to be seen with!”
Lydia, who much preferred an argument to silence, laughed out loud.
“You don’t really mean to say that Mr. Sparrow is a gentleman. Even you can’t really believe that. His father has a shop in Hertford. I suppose we may look forward to seeing you serving there, wearing a green apron in daytime and drawing up the accounts by night.”
“You seem to have forgotten,” retorted Mary, “that our grandfather had an office in Meryton, and our uncle keeps one there still. Are they not to be considered gentlemen?”
“Really, Mary, for shame!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Your grandfather was an attorney, as is your uncle. That is a profession, not a trade.”
“But what of my uncle Gardiner? He is a merchant, is he not?” countered Mary, as furious now as her mother.
“He has his own warehouses!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “And a large house at Gracechurch Street. There is every difference in the world.”
“Anyway,” concluded Lydia, happy now that everyone was cross, “if I ever find myself in want of spectacles—which I devoutly hope will never be the case—I shall be sure to obtain them from your little business. I hope that for such a near relation, you will offer a decent discount.”
Mrs. Bennet, still smarting from the insults she believed had been offered to her family, tossed her head in disdain.
Nothing mattered more to her than seeing her daughters safely married; but it was inconceivable that one of her girls should unite herself to a man who had sent in his bill for Mr. Bennet to pay.
“I only danced with him twice,” said Mary in a small, defeated voice.
“That is twice more than I should have permitted if I had seen you do so,” declared Mrs. Bennet. “I want to hear no more of this Sparrow. In truth, I am surprised at his presumption.”
Mary said no more. When the carriage arrived back at Longbourn, she hurried up to her room and closed the door.
She did not answer Mrs. Hill’s knocks. For a while she stared dry-eyed into the darkness.
Then she lit a candle and undressed herself.
She folded the new dress over a chair, where, until she blew out the flame, its gold threads continued to catch the flickering brightness from the candle.