Читать книгу Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austin, Jane Austin - Страница 12

The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and

Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the

invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the

evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. The

loo-table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and

Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his

letter and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to

his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs.

Hurst was observing their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in

attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The

perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting,

or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter,

with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received,

formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in union with her

opinion of each.

“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

He made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course

of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think

them!”

“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of

yours.”

“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”

“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”

“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I

mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you—but I always mend my own.”

“How can you contrive to write so even?”

He was silent.

“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on

the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with

her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it

infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”

“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write

again? At present I have not room to do them justice.”

“Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do

you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”

“They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not

for me to determine.”

“It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter

with ease, cannot write ill.”

“That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” cried her

brother, “because he does _not_ write with ease. He studies too

much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?”

“My style of writing is very different from yours.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless

way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the

rest.”

“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by

which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my

correspondents.”

“Your humility, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, “must disarm

reproof.”

“Nothing is more deceitful,” said Darcy, “than the appearance of

humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes

an indirect boast.”

“And which of the two do you call _my_ little recent piece of

modesty?”

“The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in

writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity

of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not

estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of

doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the

possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of

the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if

you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield you should be gone in

five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of

compliment to yourself—and yet what is there so very laudable in

a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone,

and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?”

“Nay,” cried Bingley, “this is too much, to remember at night all

the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon

my honour, I believe what I said of myself to be true, and I

believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume

the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before

the ladies.”

“I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that

you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite

as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you

were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, ‘Bingley, you had

better stay till next week,’ you would probably do it, you would

probably not go—and at another word, might stay a month.”

“You have only proved by this,” cried Elizabeth, “that Mr.

Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown

him off now much more than he did himself.”

“I am exceedingly gratified,” said Bingley, “by your converting

what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my

temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that

gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think

better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat

denial, and ride off as fast as I could.”

“Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original

intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?”

“Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must

speak for himself.”

“You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call

mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case,

however, to stand according to your representation, you must

remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire

his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely

desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of

its propriety.”

“To yield readily—easily—to the _persuasion_ of a friend is no

merit with you.”

“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the

understanding of either.”

“You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence

of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would

often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for

arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking

of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as

well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs before we

discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general

and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them

is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great

moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with

the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?”

“Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to

arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which

is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of

intimacy subsisting between the parties?”

“By all means,” cried Bingley; “let us hear all the particulars,

not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will

have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be

aware of. I assure you, that if Darcy were not such a great tall

fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so

much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than

Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his

own house especially, and of a Sunday evening, when he has

nothing to do.”

Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that

he was rather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss

Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an

expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense.

“I see your design, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike an

argument, and want to silence this.”

“Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and

Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall

be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.”

“What you ask,” said Elizabeth, “is no sacrifice on my side; and

Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”

Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.

When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and

Elizabeth for an indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved

with some alacrity to the pianoforte; and, after a polite request

that Elizabeth would lead the way which the other as politely and

more earnestly negatived, she seated herself.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus

employed, Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over

some music-books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr.

Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose

that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man; and

yet that he should look at her because he disliked her, was still

more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last that she

drew his notice because there was something more wrong and

reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other

person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him

too little to care for his approbation.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm

by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing

near Elizabeth, said to her:

“Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such

an opportunity of dancing a reel?”

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with

some surprise at her silence.

“Oh!” said she, “I heard you before, but I could not immediately

determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say

‘Yes,’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste;

but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and

cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have,

therefore, made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to

dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare.”

“Indeed I do not dare.”

Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at

his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness

in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody;

and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by

her. He really believed, that were it not for the inferiority of

her connections, he should be in some danger.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous; and her

great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received

some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.

She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by

talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in

such an alliance.

“I hope,” said she, as they were walking together in the

shrubbery the next day, “you will give your mother-in-law a few

hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage

of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the

younger girls of running after officers. And, if I may mention so

delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something,

bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady

possesses.”

“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?”

“Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips be

placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your

great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know,

only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you

must not have it taken, for what painter could do justice to

those beautiful eyes?”

“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but

their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine,

might be copied.”

At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and

Elizabeth herself.

“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, in

some confusion, lest they had been overheard.

“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away

without telling us that you were coming out.”

Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth

to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt

their rudeness, and immediately said:

“This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go

into the avenue.”

But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with

them, laughingly answered:

“No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and

appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by

admitting a fourth. Good-bye.”

She then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambled about, in the

hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so

much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of

hours that evening.