Chapter Seventeen of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Elizabeth related to Jane the next day, what had passed between Mr. Wickham and herself.
Jane listened with astonishment and concern;—she knew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy could
be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard; and yet, it was not in her nature to question
the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham.—The possibility of
his having really endured such unkindness, was enough to interest all her tender feelings;
and nothing therefore remained to be done, but to think well of them both, to defend
the conduct of each, and throw into the account of accident or mistake, whatever could not
be otherwise explained.
"They have both," said she, "been deceived, I dare say, in some way or other, of which
we can form no idea.
Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other.
It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have
alienated them, without actual blame on either side."
"Very true, indeed;—and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say in behalf of the
interested people who have probably been concerned in the business?—Do clear them too, or we
shall be obliged to think ill of somebody."
"Laugh as much as you chuse, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion.
My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy, to
be treating his father's favourite in such a manner,—one, whom his father had promised
to provide for.—It is impossible.
No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable
of it.
Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him?
oh!
no."
"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on, than that Mr. Wickham should
invent such a history of himself as he gave me last night; names, facts, every thing mentioned
without ceremony.—If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it.
Besides, there was truth in his looks."
"It is difficult indeed—it is distressing.—One does not know what to think."
"I beg your pardon;—one knows exactly what to think."
But Jane could think with certainty on only one point,—that Mr. Bingley, if he had been
imposed on, would have much to suffer when the affair became public.
The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery where this conversation passed,
by the arrival of some of the very persons of whom they had been speaking; Mr. Bingley
and his sisters came to give their personal invitation for the long expected ball at Netherfield,
which was fixed for the following Tuesday.
The two ladies were delighted to see their dear friend again, called it an age since
they had met, and repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their separation.
To the rest of the family they paid little attention; avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as
possible, saying not much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others.
They were soon gone again, rising from their seats with an activity which took their brother
by surprise, and hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.
The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family.
Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in compliment to her eldest daughter, and
was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead
of a ceremonious card.
Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attentions
of their brother; and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr.
Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of every thing in Mr. Darcy's looks and behaviour.
The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia, depended less on any single event,
or any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half
the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them,
and a ball was at any rate, a ball.
And even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it.
"While I can have my mornings to myself," said she, "it is enough.—I think it no sacrifice
to join occasionally in evening engagements.
Society has claims on us all; and I profess myself one of those who consider intervals
of recreation and amusement as desirable for every body."
Elizabeth's spirits were so high on the occasion, that though she did not often speak unnecessarily
to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's
invitation, and if he did, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening's amusement;
and she was rather surprised to find that he entertained no scruple whatever on that
head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke either from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine
de Bourgh, by venturing to dance.
"I am by no means of opinion, I assure you," said he, "that a ball of this kind, given
by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I
am so far from objecting to dancing myself that I shall hope to be honoured with the
hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening, and I take this opportunity
of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially,—a preference
which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect
for her."
Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in.
She had fully proposed being engaged by Wickham for those very dances:—and to have Mr. Collins
instead!
her liveliness had been never worse timed.
There was no help for it however.
Mr. Wickham's happiness and her own was per force delayed a little longer, and Mr. Collins's
proposal accepted with as good a grace as she could.
She was not the better pleased with his gallantry, from the idea it suggested of something more.—It
now first struck her, that she was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being
the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings,
in the absence of more eligible visitors.
The idea soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing civilities toward
herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit and vivacity; and
though more astonished than gratified herself, by this effect of her charms, it was not long
before her mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage was exceedingly
agreeable to her.
Elizabeth however did not chuse to take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute
must be the consequence of any reply.
Mr. Collins might never make the offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel about
him.
If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, the younger Miss
Bennets would have been in a pitiable state at this time, for from the day of the invitation,
to the day of the ball, there was such a succession of rain as prevented their walking to Meryton
once.
No aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after;—the very shoe-roses for Netherfield
were got by proxy.
Even Elizabeth might have found some trial of her patience in weather, which totally
suspended the improvement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham; and nothing less than a
dance on Tuesday, could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday, endurable to
Kitty and Lydia.