Chapter 53

MR. WICKHAM was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation, that he never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth, by introducing the subject of it; and she was pleased to find that she had said enough to keep him quiet.

Mr. Wickham was so completely satisfied with this conversation that he never brought up the subject again. That way, he avoided upsetting himself or annoying his dear sister Elizabeth. She was pleased to find she had said enough to keep him quiet.

The day of his and Lydia’s departure soon came; and Mrs. Bennet was forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likely to continue at least a twelvemonth.

The day soon came for him and Lydia to leave, and Mrs. Bennet had to accept the separation. Her husband would not support her plan for them all to go to Newcastle. Because of this, the separation was likely to last at least a year.

“Oh, my dear Lydia,” she cried, “when shall we meet again?”

“Oh, my dear Lydia,” she cried, “when will we see each other again?”

“Oh, Lord! I don’t know. Not these two or three years, perhaps.”

“Oh, Lord! I don’t know. Not for two or three years, perhaps.”

“Write to me very often, my dear.”

“Write to me very often, my dear.”

“As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for writing. My sisters may write to me. They will have nothing else to do.”

“As often as I can. But you know married women never have much time to write. My sisters may write to me. They’ll have nothing else to do.”

Mr. Wickham’s adieus were much more affectionate than his wife’s. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.

Mr. Wickham’s goodbyes were much more affectionate than his wife’s. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many charming things.

“He is as fine a fellow,” said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house, “as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas himself to produce a more valuable son-in-law.”

“He is as fine a fellow as I have ever seen,” said Mr. Bennet, once they were outside the house. “He smiles foolishly, smirks, and flirts with us all. I am enormously proud of him. I challenge even Sir William Lucas himself to come up with a more valuable son-in-law.”

The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days.

Her daughter's departure left Mrs. Bennet feeling very low for several days.

“I often think,” said she, “that there is nothing so bad as parting with one’s friends. One seems so forlorn without them.”

“I often think,” she said, “that nothing is as bad as saying goodbye to friends. You feel so lonely without them.”

“This is the consequence, you see, madam, of marrying a daughter,” said Elizabeth. “It must make you better satisfied that your other four are single.”

“You see, ma’am, this is what happens when a daughter gets married,” said Elizabeth. “It must make you happier that your other four daughters are still single.”

“It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married; but only because her husband’s regiment happens to be so far off. If that had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon.”

“That’s not true. Lydia isn’t leaving me because she’s married. She’s only leaving because her husband’s regiment happens to be so far away. If the regiment had been closer, she wouldn’t have left so soon.”

But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into was shortly relieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by an article of news which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and smiled, and shook her head, by turns.

But the low spirits this event had brought on soon lifted as news began to spread. The news stirred her hopes again. The housekeeper at Netherfield had been told to prepare for her master’s arrival. He was coming in a day or two and would stay for several weeks to hunt. Mrs. Bennet could hardly sit still. She took turns looking at Jane, smiling, and shaking her head.

“Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister,” (for Mrs. Philips first brought her the news). “Well, so much the better. Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what may happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so, it is quite certain he is coming?”

“Well, well, so Mr. Bingley is coming, sister,” (Mrs. Philips had been the first to bring her the news). “Well, so much the better. Not that I care, though. He means nothing to us, you know, and I’m sure I never want to see him again. But still, he’s very welcome to come to Netherfield if he likes. And who knows what may happen? But that’s no concern of ours. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to say a word about it. So, is he definitely coming?”

“You may depend on it,” replied the other, “for Mrs. Nichols was in Meryton last night: I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose to know the truth of it; and she told me that it was certainly true. He comes down on Thursday, at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was going to the butcher’s, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed.”

“You can count on it,” the other replied, “because Mrs. Nichols was in Meryton last night. I saw her passing by and went out myself specifically to find out the truth. She told me it was definitely true. He’ll arrive on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She told me she was going to the butcher’s specifically to order some meat for Wednesday. And she has six ducks just ready to be killed.”

Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming without changing colour. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to Elizabeth; but now, as soon as they were alone together, she said,—

Miss Bennet could not hear that he was coming without blushing. She had not mentioned his name to Elizabeth for many months. But now, as soon as they were alone together, she said:

“I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when my aunt told us of the present report; and I know I appeared distressed; but don’t imagine it was from any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt that I should be looked at. I do assure you that the news does not affect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone; because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of myself, but I dread other people’s remarks.”

“I saw you look at me today, Lizzy, when my aunt told us about the latest rumor. I know I looked upset, but don’t imagine it was for any silly reason. I was only embarrassed for a moment, because I felt that people would look at me. I assure you, the news makes me neither happy nor sad. I’m glad of one thing: he’s coming alone, because that means we’ll see less of him. Not that I’m afraid of myself, but I dread what other people will say.”

Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in Derbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming there with no other view than what was acknowledged; but she still thought him partial to Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability of his coming there with his friend’s permission, or being bold enough to come without it.

Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. If she had not seen him in Derbyshire, she might have believed he had come only for his stated reason. But she still thought he was fond of Jane. She could not decide whether he was more likely to have come with his friend’s permission or dared to come without it.

“Yet it is hard,” she sometimes thought, “that this poor man cannot come to a house, which he has legally hired, without raising all this speculation! I will leave him to himself.”

“Still, it’s unfair,” she sometimes thought, “that this poor man cannot visit a house he has legally rented without causing all this speculation! I will leave him alone.”

In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her feelings, in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed, more unequal, than she had often seen them.

Her sister described her feelings about his expected arrival and genuinely believed what she said. But Elizabeth could easily see that the prospect affected her sister’s mood. Her sister was more unsettled, and her moods more changeable, than Elizabeth had often seen.

The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents, about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.

The topic their parents had debated so passionately about a year earlier now came up again.

“As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “you will wait on him, of course.”

“As soon as Mr. Bingley arrives, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “you’ll visit him, of course.”

“No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised, if I went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool’s errand again.”

“No, no. You forced me to visit him last year. You promised that if I went to see him, he would marry one of my daughters. But nothing came of the visit, and I won’t be sent on another fool’s errand.”

His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on his returning to Netherfield.

His wife explained how absolutely necessary such a gesture from all the neighboring gentlemen would be on his return to Netherfield.

“’Tis an etiquette I despise,” said he. “If he wants our society, let him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend my hours in running after my neighbours every time they go away and come back again.”

“It’s a custom I despise,” he said. “If he wants our company, let him come to us. He knows where we live. I won’t spend my time chasing after my neighbours every time they go away and come back again.”

“Well, all I know is, that it will be abominably rude if you do not wait on him. But, however, that shan’t prevent my asking him to dine here, I am determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at table for him.”

“Well, all I know is that it will be terribly rude if you don’t visit him. But your refusal won’t stop me from inviting him to dinner here. I’m determined to do it. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings over soon. Including us, that will make thirteen, so there will be just enough room at the table for him.”

Consoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her husband’s incivility; though it was very mortifying to know that her neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley, in consequence of it, before they did. As the day of his arrival drew near,—

Comforted by this decision, she found it easier to put up with her husband’s rudeness. Still, knowing that his rudeness might let all her neighbours see Mr. Bingley before they did was deeply embarrassing. As the day of his arrival approached,

“I begin to be sorry that he comes at all,” said Jane to her sister. “It would be nothing; I could see him with perfect indifference; but I can hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well; but she does not know, no one can know, how much I suffer from what she says. Happy shall I be when his stay at Netherfield is over!”

“I’m starting to wish he weren’t coming at all,” said Jane to her sister. “Seeing him would mean nothing to me. I could see him without feeling anything. But I can hardly bear to hear his visit talked about so constantly. My mother means well. But she doesn’t know how much her words make me suffer. No one can know. I’ll be so happy when his stay at Netherfield is over!”

“I wish I could say anything to comfort you,” replied Elizabeth; “but it is wholly out of my power. You must feel it; and the usual satisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me, because you have always so much.”

“I wish I could say something to comfort you,” replied Elizabeth. “But there’s nothing I can say. You can’t help feeling the pain. And I’m denied the usual satisfaction of telling someone who’s suffering to be patient, because you’re always so patient.”

Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance of servants, contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety and fretfulness on her side be as long as it could. She counted the days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent—hopeless of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him from her dressing-room window enter the paddock, and ride towards the house.

Mr. Bingley arrived. With help from the servants, Mrs. Bennet managed to get the news as early as possible. This way, she could spend as long as possible feeling anxious and fretful. She counted the days before they could send him an invitation, with no hope of seeing him sooner. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hertfordshire, she spotted him from her dressing-room window. He rode into the paddock and towards the house.

Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely kept her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother, went to the window—she looked—she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again by her sister.

She eagerly called her daughters over to share her joy. Jane firmly stayed at the table. But Elizabeth went to the window to please her mother. She looked out, saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again beside her sister.

“There is a gentleman with him, mamma,” said Kitty; “who can it be?”

“There’s a man with him, Mom,” said Kitty. “Who could he be?”

“Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do not know.”

“Someone they know, I suppose, my dear. I really don’t know.”

“La!” replied Kitty, “it looks just like that man that used to be with him before. Mr. what’s his name—that tall, proud man.”

“Oh!” replied Kitty, “it looks just like that man who used to be with him before. Mr. what’s his name, that tall, proud man.”

“Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!—and so it does, I vow. Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley’s will always be welcome here, to be sure; but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him.”

“Oh my goodness! Mr. Darcy! And so it does, I swear. Well, of course, any friend of Mr. Bingley’s will always be welcome here. But otherwise, I must say I hate the very sight of him.”

Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew but little of their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore felt for the awkwardness which must attend her sister, in seeing him almost for the first time after receiving his explanatory letter. Both sisters were uncomfortable enough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves; and their mother talked on of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution to be civil to him only as Mr. Bingley’s friend, without being heard by either of them. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could not yet be suspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to show Mrs. Gardiner’s letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him. To Jane, he could be only a man whose proposals she had refused, and whose merits she had undervalued; but to her own more extensive information, he was the person to whom the whole family were indebted for the first of benefits, and whom she regarded herself with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just, as what Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his coming—at his coming to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again, was almost equal to what she had known on first witnessing his altered behaviour in Derbyshire.

Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew little about her sister’s meeting with Mr. Darcy in Derbyshire. So she sympathized with Elizabeth’s awkwardness at seeing him almost for the first time since receiving his letter of explanation. Both sisters felt quite uncomfortable. Each felt for the other and, of course, for herself. Meanwhile, their mother kept talking about her dislike of Mr. Darcy. She declared she would be polite to him only because he was Mr. Bingley’s friend. Neither sister heard her. But Elizabeth had reasons for anxiety that Jane could not yet suspect. Elizabeth had never found the courage to show Jane Mrs. Gardiner’s letter or explain her changed feelings toward Mr. Darcy. To Jane, he could only be a man whose marriage proposal Elizabeth had refused and whose good qualities she had underestimated. But Elizabeth knew more. He was the man to whom the whole family owed the greatest of favors. Her own feelings for him, if not quite as tender as Jane’s for Bingley, were at least as reasonable and justified. She was astonished that he had come to Netherfield, then to Longbourn, and willingly sought her company again. Her surprise was almost as great as when she had first seen his changed behavior in Derbyshire.

The colour which had been driven from her face returned for half a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to her eyes, as she thought for that space of time that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken; but she would not be secure.

For half a minute, the colour returned to her pale face with an even warmer glow. A delighted smile brightened her eyes as she briefly thought his love and wishes must still be unchanged. But she would not let herself feel certain.

“Let me first see how he behaves,” said she; “it will then be early enough for expectation.”

“Let me see how he behaves first,” she said. “There will be time enough to have expectations after that.”

She sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and without daring to lift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face of her sister as the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked a little paler than usual, but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected. On the gentlemen’s appearing, her colour increased; yet she received them with tolerable ease, and with a propriety of behaviour equally free from any symptom of resentment, or any unnecessary complaisance.

She sat absorbed in her work, trying to stay calm and not daring to look up. But as the servant approached the door, anxious curiosity made her look at her sister’s face. Jane looked a little paler than usual, but calmer than Elizabeth had expected. When the gentlemen appeared, Jane’s cheeks flushed. Yet she greeted them with reasonable ease and behaved properly, showing neither resentment nor any unnecessary eagerness to please.

Elizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow, and sat down again to her work, with an eagerness which it did not often command. She had ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious as usual; and, she thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps, he could not in her mother’s presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but not an improbable, conjecture.

Elizabeth said as little to either of them as politeness allowed, and sat down again to her work. She returned to it with more eagerness than it usually inspired. She had dared to glance at Darcy only once. He looked serious as usual. She thought he looked more as he used to in Hertfordshire than he had at Pemberley. But perhaps, in her mother’s presence, he could not behave as he had with her uncle and aunt. It was a painful thought, but not an unlikely one.

Bingley she had likewise seen for an instant, and in that short period saw him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was received by Mrs. Bennet with a degree of civility which made her two daughters ashamed, especially when contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of her courtesy and address of his friend.

She had also seen Bingley for a moment, long enough to notice that he looked both pleased and embarrassed. Mrs. Bennet welcomed him so warmly that her two daughters felt ashamed. Her welcome was especially embarrassing compared with the cold, formal politeness of her greeting and manner toward his friend.

Elizabeth particularly, who knew that her mother owed to the latter the preservation of her favourite daughter from irremediable infamy, was hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill applied.

Elizabeth, in particular, knew her mother owed the latter her favourite daughter's rescue from permanent disgrace. So this misplaced show of preference caused Elizabeth intense hurt and distress.

Darcy, after inquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner did—a question which she could not answer without confusion—said scarcely anything. He was not seated by her: perhaps that was the reason of his silence; but it had not been so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to her friends when he could not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed, without bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised her eyes to his face, she as often found him looking at Jane as at herself, and frequently on no object but the ground. More thoughtfulness and less anxiety to please, than when they last met, were plainly expressed. She was disappointed, and angry with herself for being so.

Darcy asked her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were, a question she could not answer without embarrassment. After that, he said almost nothing. He was not sitting beside her. Perhaps that explained his silence, but he had behaved differently in Derbyshire. There he had talked to her friends when he could not talk to her. But now several minutes passed without a word from him. Occasionally, unable to resist her curiosity, she looked up at his face. She found him looking at Jane as often as at herself, and frequently at nothing but the ground. He seemed more deep in thought and less eager to please than when they had last met. She was disappointed, and angry with herself for feeling that way.

“Could I expect it to be otherwise?” said she. “Yet why did he come?”

“Could I have expected anything different?” she said. “But why did he come?”

She was in no humour for conversation with anyone but himself; and to him she had hardly courage to speak.

She was in no mood to talk to anyone but him. And she hardly had the courage to speak to him.

She inquired after his sister, but could do no more.

She asked how his sister was, but could do no more.

“It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away,” said Mrs. Bennet.

“It’s been a long time since you left, Mr. Bingley,” said Mrs. Bennet.

He readily agreed to it.

He willingly agreed to it.

“I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say, you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled: and one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have seen it in the papers. It was in the ‘Times’ and the ‘Courier,’ I know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, ‘Lately, George Wickham, Esq., to Miss Lydia Bennet,’ without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or anything. It was my brother Gardiner’s drawing up, too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?”

“I was beginning to worry you would never come back. People did say you planned to leave the place for good at Michaelmas. But I hope that is not true. A great many things have changed in the neighbourhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled, and so is one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard about my daughter’s marriage. In fact, you must have seen the announcement in the papers. It was in the ‘Times’ and the ‘Courier,’ I know, though it was not written as it should have been. All it said was, ‘Recently, George Wickham, Esq., to Miss Lydia Bennet.’ There was not a word about her father, or where she lived, or anything. My brother Gardiner wrote the announcement, too. I wonder how he managed to make such a mess of it. Did you see the announcement?”

Bingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth dared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, she could not tell.

Bingley replied that he did and offered his congratulations. Elizabeth did not dare look up. So she could not tell how Mr. Darcy looked.

“It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married,” continued her mother; “but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken away from me. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward it seems, and there they are to stay, I do not know how long. His regiment is there; for I suppose you have heard of his leaving the ——shire, and of his being gone into the Regulars. Thank heaven! he has some friends, though, perhaps, not so many as he deserves.”

“It’s certainly wonderful to have a daughter well married,” her mother continued. “But at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it’s very hard to have her taken away from me. They’ve gone to Newcastle, which seems to be quite far north. They’re to stay there, but I don’t know how long. His regiment is there. I suppose you’ve heard that he left the _____shire regiment and joined the Regulars. Thank heaven! He has some friends, though perhaps not as many as he deserves.”

Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was in such misery of shame that she could hardly keep her seat. It drew from her, however, the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so effectually done before; and she asked Bingley whether he meant to make any stay in the country at present. A few weeks, he believed.

Elizabeth knew the remark was aimed at Mr. Darcy. She was so painfully embarrassed that she could hardly stay in her seat. Yet her embarrassment pushed her to make the effort to speak, as nothing else had managed to do before. She asked Bingley whether he planned to stay in the country for a while. He thought he would stay a few weeks.

“When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley,” said her mother, “I beg you will come here and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet’s manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the coveys for you.”

“When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley,” said her mother, “please come and shoot as many as you like on Mr. Bennet’s estate. I’m sure he’ll be very happy to help you. He’ll save all the best flocks of game birds for you.”

Elizabeth’s misery increased at such unnecessary, such officious attention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at present, as had flattered them a year ago, everything, she was persuaded, would be hastening to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant she felt, that years of happiness could not make Jane or herself amends for moments of such painful confusion.

Elizabeth felt even more miserable at such unnecessary, meddlesome attention! What if the same hopeful prospect that had encouraged them a year ago arose again now? She was convinced everything would rush toward the same distressing outcome. At that moment, she felt that years of happiness could not make up for such painfully embarrassing moments, for Jane or herself.

“The first wish of my heart,” said she to herself, “is never more to be in company with either of them. Their society can afford no pleasure that will atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me never see either one or the other again!”

“What I want most,” she said to herself, “is never to be around either of them again. No pleasure their company could offer would make up for such misery as this! Let me never see either of them again!”

Yet the misery, for which years of happiness were to offer no compensation, received soon afterwards material relief, from observing how much the beauty of her sister rekindled the admiration of her former lover. When first he came in, he had spoken to her but little, but every five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He found her as handsome as she had been last year; as good-natured, and as unaffected, though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no difference should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded that she talked as much as ever; but her mind was so busily engaged, that she did not always know when she was silent.

Yet her misery, which years of happiness could never make up for, soon eased considerably. She saw how much her sister’s beauty had revived her former lover’s admiration. When he first came in, he had spoken little to her sister. But every five minutes, he seemed to give her more attention. He found her as beautiful as she had been last year, just as kind and natural, though not quite as talkative. Jane was anxious that he should notice no change in her at all. She truly believed she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so occupied that she did not always realize when she was silent.

When the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet was mindful of her intended civility, and they were invited and engaged to dine at Longbourn in a few days’ time.

When the gentlemen got up to leave, Mrs. Bennet remembered her plan to be polite. She invited them to dinner at Longbourn in a few days, and they accepted.

“You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley,” she added; “for when you went to town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with us as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure you I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your engagement.”

“You still owe us a visit, Mr. Bingley,” she added. “When you went to town last winter, you promised to have dinner with our family as soon as you returned. You see, I haven’t forgotten. And I assure you, I was very disappointed that you didn’t come back and keep your promise.”

Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of his concern at having been prevented by business. They then went away.

Bingley looked a little foolish at this comment. He said something about being sorry that business had kept him away. Then they left.

Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine there that day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she did not think anything less than two courses could be good enough for a man on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride of one who had ten thousand a year.

Mrs. Bennet had been very tempted to ask them to stay for dinner that day. But although she always served excellent meals, she thought nothing less than two courses would do. Anything less would be unworthy of a man she was so anxious to secure. Nor would it satisfy the appetite and pride of someone with an income of ten thousand a year.