CHAPTER IV
With no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, did January and February pass away. March was to take Edward to Hunsford. He had not at first thought very seriously of going thither; but Charles, he soon found, was depending on the plan, and he gradually learned to consider it himself with greater pleasure as well as greater certainty. Absence had increased his desire of seeing Charles again, and weakened his disgust of Mrs. Lucas. There was novelty in the scheme, and as, with such a mother and such uncompanionable sisters, home could not be faultless, a little change was not unwelcome for its own sake. The journey would moreover give him a peep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drew near, he would have been very sorry for any delay. Every thing, however, went on smoothly, and was finally settled according to Charles's first sketch. He was to accompany Sir William and his eldest daughter. The improvement of spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became perfect as plan could be.
The only pain was in leaving his father, who would certainly miss him, and who, when it came to the point, so little liked his going, that he told him to write to him, and almost promised to answer his letter.
The farewell between himself and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly; on the gentleman's side even more. His present pursuit could not make him forget that Edward had been the first to excite and to deserve his attention, the first to listen and to pity, the first to be admired; and in his manner of bidding him adieu, wishing him every enjoyment, reminding him of what he was to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting their opinion of her—their opinion of every body—would always coincide, there was a solicitude, an interest which Edward felt must ever attach Wickham to him with a most sincere regard; and he parted from him convinced that, whether married or single, he must always be his model of the amiable and pleasing.
His fellow-travellers the next day, were not of a kind to make him think Wickham less agreeable. Sir William Lucas, and his daughter Maria, a good humoured girl, but as empty-headed as her father, had nothing to say that could be worth hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight as the rattle of the chaise. Edward loved absurdities, but he had known Sir William's too long. He could tell nothing new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and his civilities were worn out like his information.
It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early as to be in Gracechurch-street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner's door, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival; when they entered the passage she was there to welcome them, and Edward, looking earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely as ever. On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls, whose eagerness for their cousin's appearance would not allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness, as they had not seen him for a twelvemonth, prevented their coming lower. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away; the morning in bustle and shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.
Edward then contrived to sit by his aunt. Their first object was his sister; and he was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to his minute inquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however, to hope, that they would not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave him the particulars also of Miss Bingley's visit in Gracechurch-street, and repeated conversations occurring at different times between Jane and herself, which proved that the former had, from her heart, given up the acquaintance.
Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her nephew on Wickham's desertion, and complimented him on bearing it so well.
'But my dear Edward,' she added, 'what sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary.'
'Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end, and avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his ensnaring me, because it would be imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary.'
'If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think.'
'She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her.'
'But he paid her not the smallest attention, till her grandfather's death made her mistress of this fortune.'
'No—why should he? If it were not allowable for him to gain my affections, because I had no money, what occasion could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally poor?'
'But there seems an indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her, so soon after this event.'
'A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant decorums which other people may observe. If she does not object to it, why should we?'
'Her not objecting, does not justify him. It only shows her being deficient in something herself—sense or feeling.'
'Well,' cried Edward, 'have it as you choose. He shall be mercenary, and she shall be foolish.'
'No, Edward, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry, you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.'
'Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire, and of the young women who live there; and indeed their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! I am going to-morrow where I shall find a woman who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manner nor sense to recommend her. Stupid men and women are the only ones worth knowing, after all.'
'Take care, Edward; that speech savours strongly of disappointment.'
Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, he had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany his uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.
'We have not determined how far it shall carry us,' said Mrs. Gardiner, 'but perhaps to the Lakes.'
No scheme could have been more agreeable to Edward, and his acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. 'Oh, my dear, dear aunt,' he rapturously cried, 'what delight! what felicity! You give me fresh life and vigour. Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men and women to rocks and mountains? Oh! what hours of transport we shall spend! And when we do return, it shall not be like other travellers, without being able to give one accurate idea of any thing. We will know where we have gone—we will recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers, shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations; nor, when we attempt to describe any particular scene, will we begin quarrelling about its relative situation. Let our first effusions be less insupportable than those of the generality of travellers.'
No comments:
Post a Comment