Longbourn Beyond the Copse

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter, as soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it, than hurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to be interrupted, she sat down on one of the benches, and prepared to be happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not contain a denial.

The Private Retreat

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter, as soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it, than hurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to be interrupted, she sat down on one of the benches, and prepared to be happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not contain a denial.

The Familiar Address

"Gracechurch-street, Sept. 6.

An Unexpected Assumption

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

Darcy Takes Responsibility

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

The Unoccupied Path

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

The Address Obtained

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

Lydia Refuses Help

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

The Bargain Takes Shape

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

The Borrowed Credit

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

The Cost in Paper

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

Another Interest Named

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

The Aunt's Gentle Teasing

"I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole
morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will
not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself
surprised by your application; I did not expect it from you.
Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know,
that I had not imagined such enquiries to be necessary on your
side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my
impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing
but the belief of your being a party concerned, would have allowed
him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and
ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming
home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr.
Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all
over before I arrived; so my curiosity was not so dreadfully racked
as your's seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that
he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that
he had seen and talked with them both, Wickham repeatedly, Lydia
once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day
after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting
for them. The motive professed, was his conviction of its being
owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known, as to make it impossible for any young woman of character,
to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his
mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath
him, to lay his private actions open to the world. His character
was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step
forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil, which had been brought on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never
disgrace him. He had been some days in town, before he was able to
discover them; but he had something to direct his search, which was
more than we had; and the consciousness of this, was another
reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a
Mrs. Younge, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was
dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though
he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward-street,
and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs.
Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham; and he
went to her for intelligence of him, as soon as he got to town. But
it was two or three days before he could get from her what he
wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery
and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be
found. Wickham indeed had gone to her, on their first arrival in
London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they
would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ——
street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia.
His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade
her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her
friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia
absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none
of her friends, she wanted no help of his, she would not hear of
leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or
other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her
feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he
easily learnt, had never been his design. He confessed himself
obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour,
which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the
ill-consequences of Lydia's flight, on her own folly alone. He
meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go
somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have
nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich,
he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation
must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to
this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more
effectually making his fortune by marriage, in some other country.
Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof
against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more
than he could get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was
to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in
Gracechurch-street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner
could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further enquiry, that
your father was still with him, but would quit town the next
morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could
so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed
seeing him, till after the departure of the former. He did not
leave his name, and till the next day, it was only known that a
gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your
father was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and
then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon
as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor
was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real
defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many
faults at different times; but this is the true one. Nothing was
to be done that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do
not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it,) your
uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it
together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman
or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced
to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece,
was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it,
which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your
letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an
explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give
the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther
than yourself, or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose,
what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid,
amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds,
another thousand in addition to her own settled upon her, and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him
alone, was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his
reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character
had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been
received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in
this; though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's
reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this
fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured, that
your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit
for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved
on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at
Pemberley; but it was agreed that he should be in London once more
when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to
receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you every thing.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I
hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to
us; and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was
exactly what he had been, when I knew him in Hertfordshire; but I
would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour
while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a
piece with it, and therefore what I now tell you, can give you no
fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner,
representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and
all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me,
it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was
sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth
and Jane, and for their sakes had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was
punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the
wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again
on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear
Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never bold
enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has,
in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but
a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his
wife may teach him. I thought him very sly;—he hardly ever
mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashion. Pray forgive
me, if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so
far, as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I
have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little
pair of ponies, would be the very thing. But I must write no more.
The children have been wanting me this half hour. Your's, very
sincerely,

The Letter Completed

"M. GARDINER."

Alone With the Debt

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

A Hope Held Back

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

The Connection Remembered

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

Proud of Darcy

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

The Praise Revisited

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

The Familiar Crease

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

The Unfinished Possibility

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper, that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had to be sure done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe, that remaining partiality for her, might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

The Solitude Interrupted

She was roused from her seat, and her reflections, by some one's approach; and before she could strike into another path, she was overtaken by Wickham.

The Affectionate Approach

"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. We were always good friends; and now we are better."

Pemberley Enters the Talk

"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be too much for me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And you saw the old housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she was always very fond of me. But of course she did not mention my name to you."

Reynolds's Unwelcome Verdict

"That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had—not turned out well. At such a distance as that, you know, things are strangely misrepresented."

The Bitten Lip

"Certainly," he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she had silenced him; but he soon afterwards said,

A Safer Explanation

"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Miss de Bourgh," said Elizabeth. "It must be something particular, to take him there at this time of year."

Georgiana's Name

"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncommonly improved within this year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn out well."

The Trying Age

"I dare say she will; she has got over the most trying age."

The Lost Living

"I mention it, because it is the living which I ought to have had. A most delightful place!—Excellent Parsonage House! It would have suited me in every respect."

A Clergyman Imagined

"How should you have liked making sermons?"

Authority Behind Her Answer

"I have heard from authority, which I thought as good, that it was left you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron."

The Compromise Exposed

"I did hear, too, that there was a time, when sermon-making was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually declared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the business had been compromised accordingly."

The Defence Narrows

"You did! and it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember what I told you on that point, when first we talked of it."

The Entrance Within Reach

They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast to get rid of him; and unwilling for her sister's sake, to provoke him, she only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile,

Terms of Future Peace

"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we shall be always of one mind."

Gallantry Without Ease

She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.

The Hand Withdrawn

She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.

Turning Towards the Door

She held out her hand; he kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house.