Читать книгу Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austin, Jane Austin - Страница 13

When the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her

sister, and seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into

the drawing-room, where she was welcomed by her two friends with

many professions of pleasure; and Elizabeth had never seen them

so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed before the

gentlemen appeared. Their powers of conversation were

considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy,

relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance

with spirit.

But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first

object; Miss Bingley’s eyes were instantly turned toward Darcy,

and she had something to say to him before he had advanced many

steps. He addressed himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite

congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he

was “very glad;” but diffuseness and warmth remained for

Bingley’s salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The first

half-hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer

from the change of room; and she removed at his desire to the

other side of the fireplace, that she might be further from the

door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to anyone

else. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with

great delight.

When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the

card-table—but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence

that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found

even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one

intended to play, and the silence of the whole party on the

subject seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to

do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep.

Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst,

principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings,

joined now and then in her brother’s conversation with Miss

Bennet.

Miss Bingley’s attention was quite as much engaged in watching

Mr. Darcy’s progress through _his_ book, as in reading her own;

and she was perpetually either making some enquiry, or looking at

his page. She could not win him, however, to any conversation; he

merely answered her question, and read on. At length, quite

exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which

she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she

gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an

evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment

like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a

book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I

have not an excellent library.”

No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her

book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest for some

amusement; when hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss

Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said:

“By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a

dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on

it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much

mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be

rather a punishment than a pleasure.”

“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he

chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a

settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup

enough, I shall send round my cards.”

“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied, “if they

were carried on in a different manner; but there is something

insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It

would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of

dancing were made the order of the day.”

“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would

not be near so much like a ball.”

Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards she got up and

walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked

well; but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly

studious. In the desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one

effort more, and, turning to Elizabeth, said:

“Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and

take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing

after sitting so long in one attitude.”

Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss

Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr.

Darcy looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention

in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously

closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but

he declined it, observing that he could imagine but two motives

for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with

either of which motives his joining them would interfere. “What

could he mean? She was dying to know what could be his

meaning?”—and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand

him?

“Not at all,” was her answer; “but depend upon it, he means to be

severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to

ask nothing about it.”

Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy

in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation

of his two motives.

“I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,” said he,

as soon as she allowed him to speak. “You either choose this

method of passing the evening because you are in each other’s

confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you

are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage

in walking; if the first, I would be completely in your way, and

if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the

fire.”

“Oh! shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so

abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”

“Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,” said

Elizabeth. “We can all plague and punish one another. Tease

him—laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to

be done.”

“But upon my honour, I do _not_. I do assure you that my intimacy

has not yet taught me _that_. Tease calmness of manner and

presence of mind! No, no; I feel he may defy us there. And as to

laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by

attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug

himself.”

“Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “That is an

uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it

would be a great loss to _me_ to have many such acquaintances. I

dearly love a laugh.”

“Miss Bingley,” said he, “has given me more credit than can be.

The wisest and the best of men—nay, the wisest and best of their

actions—may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object

in life is a joke.”

“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth—“there are such people, but I hope

I am not one of _them_. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and

good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, _do_

divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these,

I suppose, are precisely what you are without.”

“Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the

study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a

strong understanding to ridicule.”

“Such as vanity and pride.”

“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a

real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good

regulation.”

Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.

“Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss

Bingley; “and pray what is the result?”

“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He

owns it himself without disguise.”

“No,” said Darcy, “I have made no such pretension. I have faults

enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I

dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little

yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I

cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought,

nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed

about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be

called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”

“_That_ is a failing indeed!” cried Elizabeth. “Implacable

resentment _is_ a shade in a character. But you have chosen your

fault well. I really cannot _laugh_ at it. You are safe from me.”

“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some

particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best

education can overcome.”

“And _your_ defect is to hate everybody.”

“And yours,” he replied with a smile, “is willfully to

misunderstand them.”

“Do let us have a little music,” cried Miss Bingley, tired of a

conversation in which she had no share. “Louisa, you will not

mind my waking Mr. Hurst?”

Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was

opened; and Darcy, after a few moments’ recollection, was not

sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too

much attention.