CHAPTER III
Mrs. Gardiner's caution to Edward was punctually and kindly given on the first favourable opportunity of speaking to him alone; after honestly telling him what she thought, she thus went on:
'You are too sensible, Edward, to fall in love merely because you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself, or endeavour to involve Wickham in an affection which his want of fortune would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against him; he is a most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is—you must not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolution and circumspection, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.'
'My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.'
'Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise.'
'Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it.'
'Edward, you are not serious now.'
'I beg your pardon, I will try again. At present I am not in love with Mr. Wickham, no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw—and if he becomes really attached to me—I believe it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence of it.—Oh! that abominable Mr. Darcy!—My father's opinion of me does me the greatest honor; and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy, but since we see every day that where there is affection, young people are seldom withheld by immediate want of fortune, from involving themselves in it, how can I promise to be wiser than so many of my fellow creatures if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that it would be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his object. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do my best.'
'Perhaps it will be as well, if you discourage his coming here so very often. At least, you should not remind your Mother of inviting him.'
'As I did the other day,' said Edward, with a conscious smile: 'very true, it will be wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited this week. You know my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I think to be the wisest; and now, I hope you are satisfied.'
His aunt assured him that she was, and Edward having thanked her for the kindness and partiality of her hints, they parted; a wonderful instance of advice being given on such a point without reserve, and without being resented.
Miss Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted by the Gardiners and Jane; but as she took up her abode with the Lucases, her arrival was no great inconvenience to the Bennets. Her marriage was now fast approaching, and Mrs. Bennet was at length so far resigned as to think it inevitable, and even repeatedly to say in an ill-natured tone, that she 'wished they might be happy.' Thursday was to be the wedding day, and on Wednesday Charles Lucas paid his farewell visit; and when he rose to take leave, Edward, ashamed of his mother's ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected himself, accompanied his friend out of the room. As they went down stairs together, Charles said,
'I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Edward.'
'That you certainly shall.'
'And I have another favour to ask you. Will you come and see me?'
'We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire.'
'I am not likely to leave Kent for some time; and even then only to London, for my studies. Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford.'
Edward could not refuse, though he foresaw little pleasure in the visit.
'My father and Maria are to come to me in March,' added Charles, 'and you know Maria is very fond of you. I hope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Edward, you will be as welcome to me as either of them.'
The wedding took place; the bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from the church door, and every body had as much to say or to hear on the subject as usual. Edward soon heard from his friend; and their correspondence was as regular and frequent as it had ever been; that it should be equally unreserved was impossible. Edward could never address him without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy was over, and, though determined not to slacken as a correspondent, it was for the sake of what had been, rather than what was. Charles's first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness; there could not but be curiosity to know how he would speak of his new home, how he would like Lady Catherine, and how happy he would dare pronounce himself to be; though, when the letters were read, Edward felt that Charles expressed himself on every point exactly as he might have foreseen. He wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing which he could not praise. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all to his taste; Mrs. Lucas was attended by Mr. Collins with much filial affection, and had proved perfectly amiable to him; and Lady Catherine's behaviour was most friendly and obliging. It was Miss Collins's picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened; and Edward perceived that he must wait for his own visit there, to know the rest.
Jane had already written a few lines to her brother to announce their safe arrival in London; and when she wrote again, Edward hoped it would be in her power to say something of the Bingleys.
His impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town, without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn, had by some accident been lost.
'My aunt,' she continued, 'is going to-morrow into that part of the town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosvenor-street.'
She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley. 'I did not think Caroline in spirits,' were her words, 'but she was very glad to see me, and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was right, therefore; my last letter had never reached her. I inquired after their brother, of course. He was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy, that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall soon see them here.'
Edward shook his head over this letter. It convinced him, that accident only could discover to Mr. Bingley his sister's being in town.
Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavoured to persuade herself that she did not regret it; but she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley's inattention. After waiting at home every morning for a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse for her, the visitor did at last appear; but the shortness of her stay, and yet more, the alteration of her manner, would allow Jane to deceive herself no longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her brother, will prove what she felt.
'My dearest Edward will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in his better judgement, at my expence, when I confess myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard for me. But, my dear brother, though the event has proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert, that, considering what her behaviour was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for wishing to be intimate with me, but if the same circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I should be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday; and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the mean time. When she did come, it was very evident that she had no pleasure in it; she made a slight, formal, apology, for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every respect so altered a creature, that when she went away, I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me out as she did; I can safely say, that every advance to intimacy began on her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and because I am very sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself farther; and though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me; and so deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she must feel on his behalf, is natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder, however, at her having any such fears now, because, if he had at all cared about me, we must have met, long ago. He knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself; and yet it should seem by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost tempted to say, that there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this. But I will endeavour to banish every painful thought, and think only of what will make me happy, your affection, and the invariable kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from you very soon. Miss Bingley said something of his never returning to Netherfield again, of giving up the house, but not with any certainty. We had better not mention it. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant accounts from our friends at Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there.
'Your's, &c.'
This letter gave Edward some pain; but his spirits returned as he considered that Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least. All expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. He would not even wish for a renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every review of it; and as a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, Edward seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy's sister, as, by Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away.
Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Edward of his promise concerning that gentleman, and required information; and Edward had such to send as might rather give contentment to his aunt than to himself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were over, he was the admirer of some one else. Edward was watchful enough to see it all, but he could see it and write of it without material pain. His heart had been but slightly touched, and his vanity was satisfied with believing that he would have been his only choice, had fortune—and fate—permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady, to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable; but Edward, less clear-sighted perhaps in this case than in Charles's, did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural; and while able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish him, he was ready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both, and could very sincerely wish him happy.
All this was discreetly acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and after relating the circumstances, he thus went on:—'I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest the very name, and wish W. all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards that person; they are even impartial towards the other, whom I cannot find out that I hate at all, or am in the least unwilling to think a very good sort of person. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effectual; and though I certainly should be a more interesting object to all my acquaintance, were I distractedly in love, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take such defections much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that the handsome must have something to live on, as well as the plain.'
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