Chapter 7

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Mr. Bennet’s property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two
thousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed,
in default of heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mother’s
fortune, though ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply
the deficiency of his. Her father had been an attorney in Meryton, and
had left her four thousand pounds.

She had a sister married to a Mr. Philips, who had been a clerk to their
father and succeeded him in the business, and a brother settled in
London in a respectable line of trade.

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most
convenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually tempted
thither three or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt, and
to a milliner’s shop just over the way. The two youngest of the family,
Catherine and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions:
their minds were more vacant than their sisters’, and when nothing
better offered, a walk to Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning
hours and furnish conversation for the evening; and, however bare of
news the country in general might be, they always contrived to learn
some from their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both
with news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in
the neighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was
the head-quarters.

Their visits to Mrs. Philips were now productive of the most interesting
intelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge of the
officers’ names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret,
and at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Philips
visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity
unknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr.
Bingley’s large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their
mother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of
an ensign.

After listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr.
Bennet coolly observed,--

“From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two
of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but
I am now convinced.”

Catherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect
indifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and
her hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going the
next morning to London.

“I am astonished, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “that you should be so
ready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly
of anybody’s children, it should not be of my own, however.”

“If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it.”

“Yes; but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.”

“This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I
had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must
so far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly
foolish.”

“My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of
their father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will
not think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I
liked a red coat myself very well--and, indeed, so I do still at my
heart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year,
should want one of my girls, I shall not say nay to him; and I thought
Colonel Forster looked very becoming the other night at Sir William’s in
his regimentals.”

“Mamma,” cried Lydia, “my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain
Carter do not go so often to Miss Watson’s as they did when they first
came; she sees them now very often standing in Clarke’s library.”

Mrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a
note for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited
for an answer. Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was
eagerly calling out, while her daughter read,--

“Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well,
Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.”

“It is from Miss Bingley,” said Jane, and then read it aloud.

/ NIND “My dear friend, /

“If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and
me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our
lives; for a whole day’s tête-à-tête between two women can never
end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of
this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.
Yours ever,

“CAROLINE BINGLEY.”

“With the officers!” cried Lydia: “I wonder my aunt did not tell us of
that.”

“Dining out,” said Mrs. Bennet; “that is very unlucky.”

“Can I have the carriage?” said Jane.

“No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to
rain; and then you must stay all night.”

“That would be a good scheme,” said Elizabeth, “if you were sure that
they would not offer to send her home.”

“Oh, but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley’s chaise to go to Meryton;
and the Hursts have no horses to theirs.”

“I had much rather go in the coach.”

“But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are
wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not they?”

“They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.”

“But if you have got them to-day,” said Elizabeth, “my mother’s purpose
will be answered.”

She did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses
were engaged; Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her
mother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad
day. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long before it
rained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was
delighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission;
Jane certainly could not come back.

“This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!” said Mrs. Bennet, more than
once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next
morning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her
contrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield
brought the following note for Elizabeth:--

/ NIND “My dearest Lizzie, /

“I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be
imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will
not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on
my seeing Mr. Jones--therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear
of his having been to me--and, excepting a sore throat and a
headache, there is not much the matter with me.

“Yours, etc.”

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note
aloud, “if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness--if she
should die--it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of
Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”

“Oh, I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little
trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays
there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the
carriage.”

Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, determined to go to her, though the
carriage was not to be had: and as she was no horsewoman, walking was
her only alternative. She declared her resolution.

“How can you be so silly,” cried her mother, “as to think of such a
thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get
there.”

“I shall be very fit to see Jane--which is all I want.”

“Is this a hint to me, Lizzy,” said her father, “to send for the
horses?”

“No, indeed. I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing,
when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.”

“I admire the activity of your benevolence,” observed Mary, “but every
impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion,
exertion should always be in proportion to what is required.”

“We will go as far as Meryton with you,” said Catherine and Lydia.
Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies set off
together.

“If we make haste,” said Lydia, as they walked along, “perhaps we may
see something of Captain Carter, before he goes.”

In Meryton they parted: the two youngest repaired to the lodgings of one
of the officers’ wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing
field after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing
over puddles, with impatient activity, and finding herself at last
within view of the house, with weary ancles, dirty stockings, and a face
glowing with the warmth of exercise.

She was shown into the breakfast parlour, where all but Jane were
assembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise.
That she should have walked three miles so early in the day in such
dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and
Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt
for it. She was received, however, very politely by them; and in their
brother’s manners there was something better than politeness--there was
good-humour and kindness. Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst
nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the
brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion and doubt as to
the occasion’s justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was
thinking only of his breakfast.

Her inquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss
Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not well
enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her
immediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving
alarm or inconvenience, from expressing in her note how much she longed
for such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal,
however, to much conversation; and when Miss Bingley left them together,
could attempt little beside expressions of gratitude for the
extraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended
her.

When breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth
began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and
solicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came; and having
examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a
violent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it;
advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice
was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head
ached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were
the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact
nothing to do elsewhere.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very
unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only
wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern
at parting with her that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer
of the chaise into an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the
present. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was
despatched to Longbourn, to acquaint the family with her stay, and bring
back a supply of clothes.

“The Apothecary came”
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“covering a screen”
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