Volume I, Chapter XX

CHAPTER XX

Miss Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of her successful love; for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule to watch for the end of the conference, no sooner saw Edward open the door and with quick step pass her towards the staircase, than she entered the breakfast-room, and congratulated both the lady and herself in warm terms on the happy prospect or their nearer connection. Miss Collins received and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and then proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with the result of which she trusted she had every reason to be satisfied, since the opposition which her cousin had shown would naturally flow from the genuine modesty of his character.

This information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet;—she would have been glad to be equally satisfied that her son had meant to encourage her by protesting against her proposals, but she dared not to believe it, and could not help saying so.

'But, depend upon it, cousin,' she added, 'that Edward shall be brought to reason. I will speak to him about it myself directly. He is a very headstrong foolish young man, and does not know his own interest; but I will make him know it.'

'Pardon me for interrupting you, Madam,' cried Miss Collins; 'but if he is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether he would altogether be a very desirable husband to a woman in my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If therefore he actually persists in rejecting my proposals, perhaps it were better not to force him into accepting them, because if liable to such defects of temper, he could not contribute much to my felicity.'

'Ma'am, you quite misunderstand me,' said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. 'Edward is only headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else he is as good natured a man as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soon settle it with him, I am sure.'

She would not give her time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her husband, called out as she entered the library,

'Oh! Mr. Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar. You must come and make Edward marry Miss Collins, for he vows he will not have her, and if you do not make haste she will change her mind and not have him.'

Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them on her face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by her communication.

'I have not the pleasure of understanding you,' said he, when she had finished her speech. 'Of what are you talking?'

'Of Miss Collins and Edward. Edward declares he will not have Miss Collins, and Miss Collins begins to say that she will not have Edward.'

'And what am I to do on the occasion?—It seems an hopeless business.'

'Speak to Edward about it yourself. Tell him that you insist upon his soliciting her hand.'

'Let him be called down. He shall hear my opinion.'

Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Edward was summoned to the library.

'Come here, Edward,' cried his father as he appeared. 'I have sent for you on an affair of importance. I understand that Miss Collins has proposed that a marriage be effected between you. Is it true?' Edward replied that it was. 'Very well—and this proposal you have rejected?'

'I have, Sir.'

'Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your accepting it. Is it not so, Mrs. Bennet?'

'Yes, or I will never see him again.'

'An unhappy alternative is before you, Edward. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents.—Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Miss Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.'

Edward could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning; but Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the affair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.

'What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, in talking this way? You promised me to insist upon his soliciting her hand.'

'My dear,' replied her husband, 'I have two small favours to request. First, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the present occasion; and secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as may be.'

Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did Mrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to Edward again and again; coaxed and threatened him by turns. She endeavoured to secure Jane in her interest; but Jane with all possible mildness declined interfering;—and Edward sometimes with real earnestness and sometimes with playful gaiety replied to her attacks. Though his manner varied however, his determination never did.

Miss Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed. She thought too well of herself to comprehend on what motives her cousin could object to her proposals; and though her pride was hurt, she suffered in no other way. Her regard for him was quite imaginary; and the possibility of his deserving his mother's reproach prevented her feeling any regret.

While the family were in this confusion, Charles Lucas came to spend the day with them. He was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying to him, cried in a half whisper, 'I am glad you are come, for there is such fun here!—What do you think has happened this morning?—Miss Collins has made an offer to Edward, and he will not have her.'

Charles hardly had time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty, who came to tell the same news, and no sooner had they entered the breakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she likewise began on the subject, calling on Mr. Lucas for his compassion, and entreating him to persuade his friend Edward to comply with the wishes of all his family. 'Pray do, my dear Mr. Lucas,' she added in a melancholy tone, 'for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me, I am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves.'

Charles's reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Edward.

'Aye, there he comes,' continued Mrs. Bennet, 'looking as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for us than if we were at York, provided he can have his own way.—But I tell you what, if you take it into your head to go on rejecting every idea of marriage in this way, you will never get a wife at all—and I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when Mr. Bennet is dead.—I shall not be able to keep you—and so I warn you.—I have done with you from this very day.—I told you in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as my word. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children.—Not that I have much pleasure indeed in talking to any body. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer!—But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied.'

Her audience listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that any attempt to reason with her or soothe her would only increase the irritation. She talked on, therefore, without interruption from any of them till they were joined by Miss Collins, who entered with an air more stately than usual, and on perceiving whom, she said to them, 'Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues, and let Miss Collins and me have a little conversation together.'

Edward passed quietly out of the room, with a glance at Charles Lucas, and Jane and Kitty followed; but Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could; and Charles, detained first by the civility of Miss Collins, whose inquiries after himself and all his family were very minute, and then by a little curiosity, satisfied himself with walking to the window and pretending not to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs. Bennet began the projected conversation.—'Oh! cousin!'—

'My dear Madam,' replied she, 'let us be for ever silent on this point. Far be it from me,' she presently continued in a voice that marked her displeasure, 'to resent the behaviour of your son. Resignation to inevitable evils is the evil duty of us all; the peculiar duty of a young woman who has been otherwise so fortunate as I have been; and I trust I am resigned. Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt of my positive happiness had my cousin honoured me with the solicitation of my hand; for I have often observed that resignation is never so perfect as when the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation. You will not, I hope, consider me as shewing any disrespect to your family, my dear Madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your son's favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the compliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in my behalf. My conduct may I fear be objectionable in having accepted my dismission from your son's lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my manner has been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologise.'