Old friends and new fancies

by Sybil G. Brinton

"Whatever Mrs. Knightley may do," said Elizabeth, "in my opinion we should not be acting wisely by Kitty in encouraging her to talk and think much about it. On the young man's side it has not gone beyond a promising inclination, I infer, and it may never be more."

"You are a prudent creature, Elizabeth," exclaimed her brother-in-law; "but as regards Kitty, your precautions are too late, as I know to my cost. There was I thinking I was bringing down the very girl for Morland to fall in love with—indeed, I had almost told him so—and now it appears she is more than half engaged to someone else, and what good is that to a man who wants a wife to establish in that big house of his?"

"Well," said Elizabeth, laughing, "you need not reproach yourself, Charles. A house and living were promised to Mr. Morland; but a wife, I believe, was not in the bond."

"It would have been very pleasant to have provided him with one, nevertheless," returned Bingley. "As it is, they see a great deal of each other, and are such excellent friends, that if it were not all such a profound secret it would be incumbent on me to give him a hint of the state of things."

Elizabeth looked at her sister for confirmation of this, and Jane replied: "Yes, they are good friends. Kitty seems to enjoy his companionship, and he has evidently a strong liking for her, so that I sometimes feel afraid lest it should develop into anything likely to cause him pain hereafter. But, of course, as I have repeatedly told Bingley, even in view of such a contingency we have no right to betray our knowledge of Kitty's private hopes."

As Mr. Morland dined at Desborough, Elizabeth had an opportunity of observing the young people, and she thought she had seldom seen Kitty to greater advantage; her particularly delicate beauty was heightened partly by excitement and partly by the healthful country life. She was at perfect ease, happy with her sisters and Mr. Bingley, and treating Mr. Morland much as she would have treated an elderly friend of the family, not as a man to be captivated. The feeling of frank goodfellowship which he seemed to inspire was a simple and wholesome one, and Elizabeth tried to rest assured that Mr. Morland was aware of Kitty's attitude towards him and wished for nothing more. That, indeed, was the impression he gave; but the longer she was with him, the more clearly she perceived that now his circumstances were more settled a quiet contentment, an evenness of temper, had become habitual to him, without taking away the earnestness, the steadfastness of purpose, which underlay the whole. She felt that she did not yet thoroughly know Mr. Morland; and the following morning, in the course of a brief talk with Kitty, she suggested to her in the gentlest possible way of the desirability of not allowing so excellent a young man, who was also a solitary one, to entertain thoughts of her which might be so much more easily admitted to his mind than expelled from it. Kitty had just been giving wings to her imagination in a description of Mr. Price, which Elizabeth had felt herself hard-hearted to be obliged to check, and the young girl with difficulty came down to earth again to Mr. Morland, to assure Elizabeth, with all haste of indifference, that she was positive that Morland did not think of her in that way; he only cared for his parish and his house, and as for his being solitary—why, his sister Sarah was coming to live with him.

Elizabeth was compelled to be content, and, in addition, she secured a promise from Jane that Kitty should come to Pemberley about the middle of September. Kitty was delighted with the arrangement, so long as there was one which secured her return to Desborough for the shooting-party early in November. Her eldest sister exhibited an almost equal amount of eagerness on her behalf to settle this important matter; and Kitty, who had been living in terror lest some cruel fate should intervene to send her back to Longbourn before that time, breathed more freely when her sisters undertook to obtain her father's consent to such a long absence.

Mr. Bennet and Georgiana duly arrived at Pemberley, and were welcomed with all the warmth that affection could show. They had been a curiously assorted pair of travelling companions, and their relations had speculated with amusement upon their chances of congeniality. Neither being talkers, they had at least had that in common, though after their arrival Georgiana smilingly reproached Mr. Bennet with having intently studied a book of Latin poetry throughout the whole journey, and Mr. Bennet gravely apologized for not having selected a volume more suitable for reading aloud; he was sorry he had not been at more pains to while away the time for a young lady who was exceedingly punctual, and always ready when the carriage came round. For his own part, he declared that he felt himself becoming more conversational with every mile of the way, in proof of which he twice voluntarily told Elizabeth during the first hour that he was glad to see her again, and announced that, after his own library, there was no place he would sooner be in than Mr. Darcy's.

The first evening was a cheerful one, there was so much to say, so many friends to inquire after, adventures to relate, and plans to detail. The children were brought in, and, according to the time-honoured custom everywhere, were pronounced to have grown, though it is to be feared that Mr. Bennet was not an ideal grandparent, for he so far miscalculated as to bring them toys which they could not properly appreciate for some years at least; and Elizabeth wanted to hear of little William and Elizabeth Collins, with whom Georgiana had often played at Hunsford Parsonage, and who were described as being strikingly like their father and mother respectively.

It was not until the following day, when the sisters were alone together, that any words passed between them concerning Colonel Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth showed Georgiana a few brief lines she had received from him, stating little more than the bare facts of his departure and its cause. "She is engaged, and it is all over for me now. At all events, I know the worst," he wrote. "Do not be too compassionate for me, Elizabeth. I have been a fool, to think that anything so bright and lovely should become mine. Yet I did not think she would bestow herself where she has. I was a laggard, I suppose, and I threw my chance away in Bath; and how could she wait until I had reinstated myself? No, my dream is over. You will hear of her engagement, no doubt, and I beg you to tell her that I join with you in wishes for her happiness. I shall be with you at Pemberley before long. Georgiana is an angel. I did not deserve from her one quarter of the kindness she showed me."