OLD FRIENDS AND NEW FANCIES

AN IMAGINARY SEQUEL

TO THE NOVELS OF JANE AUSTEN

BY

SYBIL G. BRINTON

LONDON

HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM

ADELPHI

1913

In this little attempt at picturing the after-adventures of some of Jane Austen's characters I have made use of the references to them which she herself made, and which are recorded in Mr. Austen-Leigh's "Memoir."

More grateful acknowledgments than I can ever express are due to my friend Edith Barran, without whom this book could not have been written.

The difficulties, as well as the presumption, of such an undertaking, are alike evident; but the fascination of the subject must be our apology to those who, like ourselves, "owe to Jane Austen of the happiest hours of their lives."

S.G.B.

The following characters are introduced into the story:—

From Pride and Prejudice.
Elizabeth Bennet (now Mrs. Darcy).
Jane Bennet (now Mrs. Bingley).
Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Bingley.
Miss Bingley.
Mr. and Mrs. Hurst.
Kitty Bennet.
Mr. Bennet.
Georgiana Darcy.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Miss de Bourgh.
Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Mrs. Gardiner.
Mrs. Annesley.
From Mansfield Park.
William Price.
Mary Crawford.
Henry Crawford.
Mrs. Grant.
Mr. Yates.
Mrs. Yates.
Tom Bertram.
From Northanger Abbey.
James Morland.
Eleanor Tilney (now Lady Portinscale).
General Tilney.
Captain Tilney.
Isabella Thorpe.
From Sense and Sensibility.
Elinor Dashwood (now Mrs. Edward Ferrars).
Edward Ferrars.
Robert Ferrars.
Mrs. Jennings.
Lucy Steele (now Mrs. Robert Ferrars).
Anne Steele.
Mr. Palmer.
From Persuasion.
Captain Wentworth.
Anne Elliot (now Mrs. Wentworth).
Sir Walter Elliot.
Miss Elliot.
From Emma.
Emma Woodhouse (now Mrs. Knightley).
Mr. Knightley.

[Chapter I]

There is one characteristic which may be safely said to belong to nearly all happily-married couples—that of desiring to see equally happy marriages among their young friends; and in some cases, where their wishes are strong and circumstances seem favourable to the exertion of their own efforts, they may even embark upon the perilous but delightful course of helping those persons whose minds are as yet not made up, to form a decision respecting this important crisis in life, and this done, to assist in clearing the way in order that this decision may forthwith be acted upon.

Some good intentions of this kind, arising out of a very sincere affection for both the persons concerned, and a real anxiety about the future of the younger and dearer of the two, had actuated Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy in promoting an engagement between Georgiana Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Georgiana was then twenty, and had lived entirely with her brother during the three and a half years of his married life. Reserved, shy, without self-reliance, and slow to form new attachments, she had been accustomed to look upon the Colonel as, after her brother, her eldest and best friend, a feeling which the disparity of their ages served to strengthen. She had therefore accepted the fact of their new relations with a kind of timid pleasure, only imploring Elizabeth that nothing need be said about marriage for some time to come.

"Elizabeth, when I am married, shall I have to go and stay at Rosings without you?" she had asked; and on being assured that such might be the terrible consequences of matrimony, she had manifested a strong inclination not to look beyond the present, but to enjoy for some time longer the love and protection she had always met with as an inmate of her brother's house.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh had thought it necessary to go through the form of expressing displeasure at the whole proceeding, in consequence of Darcy's omission to ask her advice in the disposal of his sister's hand, but in reality she so thoroughly approved of the match between her nephew and niece that she forgot her chagrin, and talked everywhere of her satisfaction in at last seeing a prospect of a member of the Darcy family being united to one who was in every respect worthy of the position.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were seated in the library at Pemberley one April morning when the engagement was about six months old. Their two children, a handsome boy of two, and a baby girl of a few months, had just been taken upstairs after the merry games with their parents to which this hour was usually devoted, and Elizabeth was arranging with her husband the plans for the day.

"What has become of Georgiana and Fitzwilliam?" inquired Darcy. "I understand they were going to ride together; but they both said they would prefer to put it off till twelve o'clock, when I could go with them."

"They have been walking on the terrace, but Georgiana has gone in now," replied Elizabeth, glancing out of the window. She returned to her husband's side, and, sitting down, began to speak with great earnestness. "Do you think that they are really happy in their engagement? I have been watching them closely for some days, and I am convinced that Georgiana, at all events, is not."

Mr. Darcy's manner expressed surprise and incredulity. "What fancy is this you have taken into your head, Elizabeth? No, certainly no such idea had ever crossed my own mind. You must be mistaken."

"I do not think so," said Elizabeth. "Their relation to one another has not, since he has been staying here this time, its former ease and naturalness, and I have noticed other indications as well, which make me think that freedom would bring them mutual relief."

"I am sorry for what you say, Elizabeth," said Darcy gravely; "but it is possible you lay too much stress on what may be merely a passing mood. When we first consented to the engagement I thought them to be excellently suited to each other, and so far I have not seen anything to modify that opinion. What has Georgiana been saying to you?"

"She has said nothing, but knowing her so well, I can see she is not happy. She is nervous, restless, unlike herself; she tries to escape being alone with Robert; she avoids with a painful embarrassment any reference to her future plans; nay, you must have noticed incidents like that of yesterday, when she almost cried and begged to be excused from going with us to Bath next week."

"That is mere foolishness; there is no shadow of reason why she should be more afraid of her Aunt Catherine now than she ever was."

"There is more reason, if she dreads to hear her marriage talked of as rapidly approaching, and herself and Robert referred to as a most fortunate and admirably-assorted pair—you know how your aunt harangues them on all occasions."

Darcy smiled slightly, then rose and began to pace the room. "If your conjectures are correct, Elizabeth, and Georgiana is unhappy in the prospect of this marriage, of course it cannot go on; but I shall be deeply grieved for all reasons, and I hardly know how to ask Fitzwilliam to release her. Excellent fellow though he is, he might well resent being thrown over after half a year for what seems like a girlish caprice."

"I do not believe that in any case he would resent it," replied Elizabeth. "There would be regret on both sides—regret that they had not been able to make each other happy; but I more than suspect that if we could ascertain his feelings, we should find them to coincide with Georgiana's. In six months, you know, they have had time to reflect and to realize what the engagement means to both of them."

"You assume a good deal, Elizabeth. I cannot believe that it is so uncongenial to Fitzwilliam."

"That is because he is too good, too honourable to show it; and yet I am sensible that it is so—that his regard for Georgiana is that of a friend, a brother, nothing more. I suppose you cannot remember the time when we were engaged, Darcy, and Bingley and Jane also?" she added, looking archly at her husband.

"My dear, I recollect it all with the deepest satisfaction; but, you know, everyone does not display their feelings in the same way. Fitzwilliam is an older man than I am, and was never prone to raptures, and Georgiana has not the liveliness of mind of my Elizabeth."

"I know they are not likely to be run away with by their feelings, as Mr. Collins would say," replied Elizabeth, smiling; "but even taking Fitzwilliam's age and Georgiana's gravity into consideration, this is not at all the same thing. I am convinced that they do not find that complete joy in their engagement that people should, and that these two might if they were each engaged to the right person."

"Do you mean that Georgiana has seen someone whom she might prefer?" asked Darcy sharply.

Elizabeth gave a decided negative to this, and her husband remained for some minutes wrapped in thought. At length he roused himself, and said: "You had better speak to Georgiana on the subject, Elizabeth, and if it is as you suppose, we will talk it over with Fitzwilliam together. For my sister to dissolve her engagement is a serious step, and must be well considered."

His wife agreed, and added: "Pray, dear Darcy, if it should come to an end, do not show any resentment in your manner towards Georgiana. She cannot help not caring enough for Fitzwilliam, and it will be painful enough for her to break with him and to know that she has disappointed you."

"I will try not to do so, Elizabeth; but you know how much I desire a safe and honourable settlement in life for Georgiana, such as this marriage would have been."

"We both wished it so much that I am afraid we were led into mistaking the real nature of their attachment," said his wife. "At any rate, since we assisted in bringing the affair about, we must share the responsibility of ending it—a fact which your aunt is not likely to allow us to forget, is she, Darcy?"

"True," returned Darcy. "It is regrettable that the engagement was so generally made known. However, Georgiana may stay away from Bath if she prefers."

It was a relief to Elizabeth to have fairly talked her husband into accepting the possibility of such an unwelcome turn of affairs, for events proved her misgivings to have been well founded. She had truly gauged the feelings of Georgiana and Fitzwilliam with regard to each other and to their engagement. Georgiana confessed, with deep distress and confusion, that she knew it was very ungrateful and naughty, but—she did not seem to be able to care for her cousin in that way, and would have said so before, but that she was afraid her brother and her aunt would be angry. Fitzwilliam admitted that he had long feared his inability to make his cousin happy, but showed how very great was his dread of causing her, by his defection, to be wounded, reproached, or unkindly talked about. Elizabeth had a difficult task to smooth away all obstacles and to bring comfort to the minds of two very troubled and scrupulous people, besides her other duty of persuading her husband that the separation was the right thing, and of shielding Georgiana from all disagreeables; but in a few days everything had been accomplished except what time alone could do.

Darcy could not altogether conceal his regret and disappointment at this termination of his hopes, and Georgiana was miserable in the consciousness that he blamed her for not having known her mind at the beginning of the engagement. Had she really cared for Fitzwilliam, he was convinced that it must have gone on to a happy conclusion; and naturally his cousin could hardly be the one to uphold a different opinion. Fitzwilliam could only assert and reassert that Georgiana was undeserving of the slightest reproach, and endeavour to divert his cousin's attention to himself.

It was arranged that he should accompany the Darcys as usual to Bath, where they were to meet Lady Catherine, and meanwhile Georgiana accepted an invitation from Jane and Mr. Bingley, which on a hint from Elizabeth was warmly extended to her, to go and stay with them at the same time at their house on the other side of Derbyshire.

[Chapter II]

Lady Catherine de Bourgh, with her daughter and Mrs. Jenkinson, had been established in her favourite lodgings in Pulteney Street since the middle of March. It had been her custom of late years to spend six or seven weeks in Bath every spring. She had considered it to be good for her daughter's health; she also considered that her own constitution and spirits benefited greatly by this yearly change of social environment. The Rosings' card-parties lacked variety. Mr. and Mrs. Collins remained admirable listeners, but their conversation, like their civilities, occasionally wore a little thin. Lady Catherine, would she but have admitted it, thought that Mr. Collins was too much interested in his own asparagus-beds and too little in her peach-houses; and the ailments of the children kept Mrs. Collins at home on several evenings when it would have been convenient to the hostess at Rosings to make up a quadrille-table. Obviously the most suitable spot in which Lady Catherine and her daughter could have sought change of air would have been the residence of her nephew; but Darcy and Elizabeth had very early in their married life made it clear that they did not intend their house to be turned into a hydropathic establishment for their ailing relatives, and that they would entertain their visitors at such times and for as long as they chose; consequently Lady Catherine had been reduced to the expedient of going to Bath in the season, and to Pemberley when she was asked. She, however, reserved to herself the right of insisting that her relatives should visit her at Bath, and Darcy, who wished to give no occasion of offence to his mother's only sister, was in the habit of taking his wife and sister down there every spring for a short stay at one of the hotels, thus forming among themselves a pleasant and independent little party, which was usually joined by Colonel Fitzwilliam. This year Lady Catherine, having been there for some weeks previously, had been collecting round her a circle of acquaintances, some more and some less likely to be congenial to the relatives whose visit was pending.

"Elizabeth," said Mr. Darcy to his wife, as they stood together in Lady Catherine's drawing-room at a large reception which she was giving in their honour, two days after their arrival, "I think I see General Tilney over there; and, unless my memory is failing me, surely this is his daughter coming towards us, whom we made friends with last year."

"Why, so it is; what a delightful surprise!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Dear Lady Portinscale, how glad I am to see you again! Do not say you have forgotten me, or I shall find it hard to forgive you!"

"No, indeed, Mrs. Darcy, I was coming to introduce myself, in fear that you might have forgotten me. How do you do, Mr. Darcy? Lady Catherine told me that she was expecting the whole party from Pemberley this week."

"Yes, we have come to put in our period of attendance, as you see," said Elizabeth, "but I never dreamed of anything so pleasant as meeting you again, after what you said last year."

"The truth is that my father has not been at all well, and as he felt himself obliged to come here for a short time, he begged us to join him for two or three weeks."

"Your husband is here this evening?"

"Yes, he is in the next room; I see him talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"And are your brother and his pretty wife in Bath this spring? I remember her so well."

"No, they are at home; but we have a brother of hers staying with us—James Morland. He has a curacy in a very unhealthy part of the Thames Valley, and he has been extremely ill with a low fever, so we have brought him here for a fortnight in the hope that it will do him good."

"How very kind of you to take care of him! He is fortunate to have such friends."

"Oh, no, it is a very small thing; and he is such an excellent young fellow—sensible and agreeable, and so hard-working! My husband has the highest opinion of him; and were he less amiable, it would be a pleasure to be of service to anyone connected with Catherine."

"You oblige me to repeat that anyone who has you for his or her advocate is indeed fortunate, Lady Portinscale," answered Elizabeth, smiling; "but now that you know your character, pray perform the same kind office for some of the people here. They are nearly all strangers to me, and if my husband were not listening, I should say that I wonder how my aunt manages to pick them up."

"Lady Portinscale will soon gauge your character, Elizabeth, if you make such terribly outspoken comments," said Darcy, smiling. "You must not mind her, Lady Portinscale; my aunt's presence has a demoralizing effect upon my wife. It is a very sad thing, but I have often remarked it."

"Not her presence in the ordinary way," said Elizabeth; "but to-day we have been through such a stormy scene together, that I may be excused for feeling that my aunt and I must go diametrically opposite ways for the rest of our lives."

"Really?" said Eleanor Portinscale, with the faintest suspicion of laughter in her eyes. "Poor Lady Catherine! I recollect last year that you and your sister-in-law were continually brewing some kind of rebellious mischief against her."

"That is just the cause of the trouble now," responded Elizabeth. "My sister-in-law became engaged to Colonel Fitzwilliam last November; but I saw that they were both so extremely unhappy in their engagement that I was instrumental in breaking it off, and this happened only last week; so that is why Robert Fitzwilliam is looking ten years younger, Georgiana is sheltering safely at home, and Lady Catherine is furiously angry with everyone all round, especially with me."

"I am sorry," said Lady Portinscale with gentle sympathy. "These things cannot be done without regrets and heartburnings. I hope it will mean real happiness for them both in the end."

"One has to take that part of it on trust," was Elizabeth's answer; "in the meantime it has upset my husband dreadfully, and I am afraid he will never be quite reconciled to it until he sees Georgiana happily married to somebody who has at present not appeared on the scene."

"I suppose she felt altogether disinclined for coming with you to Bath, else she might have met friends here who would have distracted her thoughts."

"Yes; but, of course, she would not come, and I could hardly persuade her even to accept an invitation to go and stay with my sister Jane for part of the time that we shall be away. We left her in such terribly low spirits that it is really some consolation to see Colonel Fitzwilliam looking as if a weight had been taken off his mind. It would be a sad pity that we should all have got into hot water with Lady Catherine and nobody be a penny the better for it."

Lady Portinscale smiled. "He is a very handsome man, and extraordinarily young-looking; he is nearly forty, is he not?"

"Yes, one would not suspect him of it. There is Captain Wentworth talking to him now; they seem to come here every year. Mrs. Wentworth and Georgiana became rather friendly, and they correspond. But those relatives of hers are impossible! Why, what is going on? Lady Catherine seems to be carrying off Colonel Fitzwilliam; poor man, he was in such a congenial group! Whom can she be introducing him to? They are people I never saw before."

"I do not know them myself, but I have several times seen them with Lady Catherine," replied Lady Portinscale. "They are called Ferrars; at least, one of them is Mrs. Ferrars, I am not sure which."

The persons who had attracted Elizabeth's attention were three in number; the two ladies somewhat resembled one another, being rather thin, small in stature, and very elaborately dressed in the height of the fashion. One of them might have been considered pretty, but for her sharp, almost shrewish features, restless eyes, and the discontented, irritable lines which had formed themselves in her face. The other had these characteristics in a more marked degree, together with a general air of much less refinement and sense. It was not to be expected that Lucy and Anne Steele would have altered very greatly for the better since the empty-headed and overdressed fop who now accompanied them had exalted Lucy to the honour of becoming Mrs. Robert Ferrars. After four years of family quarrels with Mrs. Ferrars and Mrs. John Dashwood, of spending more than her husband's income, of scheming to obtain Anne a husband, of striving to push herself into fashionable society and to hold her own there; she found her only happiness in visits to gay watering-places, where she could pick up new acquaintances, and in their company forget for a time the incessant worries and vexations of her home-life. Anne spent the greater part of the year with her sister and brother-in-law, occasionally diversifying her programme by a visit from Mrs. Jennings, or to Elinor and Edward Ferrars, when out of kindness to Lucy they would consent to receive her for a time; but these visits of Anne's to the rectory at Delaford were a trial to all concerned; and since, on the death of Colonel Brandon, Edward had effected an exchange of livings with a clergyman in Derbyshire, Elinor ventured to hope that Anne would no longer find it a convenience to stay with persons who resided in such an out-of-the-way part of the country. For the present, both Lucy and Anne were quite satisfied with their surroundings. They had had the good fortune to become known to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and by the exercise of all the tact, flattery and obliging manners at their command, had rendered themselves indispensable at whatever entertainments she gave, large or small, and were being treated by her with such marked graciousness as to rouse their hopes of receiving an invitation to Rosings, a mansion of the glories of which they had heard much, as had all Lady Catherine's friends. The introduction, on this evening, to such a handsome, soldierly and aristocratic-looking man as Colonel Fitzwilliam was a piece of good luck which exceeded Anne's wildest dreams; and although, as soon as the proper civilities had been exchanged, he seized the first opportunity of returning to his men friends, Anne lost no time in confiding to Lucy her extreme satisfaction at the addition of such a very smart beau to Lady Catherine's party.

"Don't be a fool, Nancy," was Lucy's answer, in somewhat discouraging tones; "what's the good of expecting a man like that to look at you? And, besides, isn't he engaged to Mr. Darcy's sister?"

"No," Anne answered eagerly, "the engagement's broke off. Miss de Bourgh told me so to-day. And fancy Lady Catherine introducing him to us at once! She must want us to be all friends together, mustn't she?"

"Well, it's likely you'll go and spoil it in some way; you never caught the doctor, for all his attention," Lucy responded with true sisterly candour, "and I expect we'll find we don't see much of Colonel Fitzwilliam. He's staying at the hotel with the Darcys, and from the look of Mrs. Darcy I don't know as she'll want to do just what Lady Catherine tells her, all day long."

"I shall go and sit by Miss de Bourgh," said Nancy, after a moment's contemplation of this dismal prospect, "and perhaps Lady Catherine will introduce me to the Darcys. You'd better come too, Lucy. We can't get along without knowing them now."

Lucy consented, after some demur; and in the course of the evening their hopes of an introduction were realized, and their self-importance greatly increased; for Mrs. Darcy, curious to ascertain what kind of hangers-on had found places in her aunt's cortège this year, had conversed for a short time with them both; and with the prudence and consideration which was characteristic of her, had refrained from expressing to her husband the full extent of the unfavourable impression which they created.

"I do not much care for those new friends of my aunt's," Darcy remarked to his wife when they reached home.

"Why, my dear, you were not even introduced to them," exclaimed Elizabeth. "Robert, I noticed, did not escape, but you did. Besides, they are related to the Ferrars at home; there is no getting away from that."

"I gathered that they were, but I can hardly believe it. That man brother to Edward Ferrars! I heard him trying to argue with Robert about Nelson's tactics at the battle of the Nile, and it was enough for me. I have heard far sounder sense talked at a tenants' dinner—at the end of one, too."

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth laughed. "His views upon life in general appeared to suffer somewhat from lack of breadth," said the former, "and I can imagine it would be possible to find him a tedious companion. As for the ladies of the party, I did not have much conversation with them."

"I think the look of them rather frightened Robert," said Elizabeth; "but, on the whole, they are tolerably unobjectionable. After all, one can't always pick and choose at a place like Bath, and, anyhow, we must be civil to Aunt Catherine's friends—it is not for very long. I am really going to practise what I preach, so you need not look at me like that, Mr. Darcy."

The following evening the whole party met again at a concert in aid of a charity, which had been patronized by Lady Catherine to the extent of several pounds' worth of tickets. The morning had been spent by the Darcys and Fitzwilliam in their own occupations; but they had been obliged to dine with their aunt, and to meet at dinner the Robert Ferrars, with Miss Anne Steele. General Tilney, Lady Portinscale's father, and his son Frederick made up the requisite number of gentlemen, and Elizabeth found much to divert her in watching, during dinner, the manoeuvres of Miss Steele, who, seated between the two bachelors, was fully occupied in efforts to make herself equally and incessantly agreeable to both of them; the dire failure of which might have aroused some compassion had she not been so completely self-satisfied and confident. Captain Tilney certainly kept up the conversation in the style that was expected of him as long as he could, and then turned to Miss de Bourgh and devoted himself to her, having been informed by his father that she was a considerable heiress, and his attentions to her must be regulated accordingly. Colonel Fitzwilliam, for his part, found three-cornered discussion carried on with great animation between himself, his aunt, and General Tilney, who sat opposite, on the military genius of the French generals, considerably more interesting than Miss Steele's observation on the Bath assemblies and her openly-expressed predilection in favour of officers as partners. Elizabeth and her husband were no better off in their respective companions. The inanities of Robert Ferrars, and the pretensions of his wife, were calculated to put a severe strain on the good intentions of Lady Catherine's niece and nephew towards her guests.

"How elegantly Lady Catherine's dinner-parties are always carried out!" remarked Lucy to Mr. Darcy, in a kind of loud aside, as they unfolded their napkins. "She seems to be one of those fortunate persons who always manage to have everything about them as recherché as it is at home, wherever they may be staying. Don't you think so, Mr. Darcy? No one else could have made this apartment what it is, but with Lady Catherine's delightful appointments you could, I daresay, easily imagine yourself to be in one of the smaller dining parlours at Rosings, could you not?"

Mr. Darcy was rather taken aback by this speech, and hastily making a mental review of his aunt's usual visitors, failed entirely to connect Mrs. Robert Ferrars with the dining parlour, or any other room at Rosings; so his reply was not very satisfactory to his questioner.

"It seems a pleasant and convenient room. My aunt, I believe, generally takes these lodgings; and when she settles down in a place for a few weeks, naturally likes to make it comfortable."

"Oh, but I think it is a special gift of dear Lady Catherine's," exclaimed Lucy. "You cannot deny it, Mr. Darcy, knowing Rosings as you do. Now at our lodgings—well, I daresay the rooms are very little smaller than this—but try as I will, I cannot give them a home-like air, though I assure you I brought two large packing-cases of dainty trifles from our country house."

"Indeed!" said Darcy.

"Yes, but the lavish refinement, combined with substantial comfort, of Lady Catherine's surroundings always appeals to me so strongly when I come here. I am sure you understand what I mean, Mr. Darcy, with a home like Pemberley as a standard to judge other people's houses by."

"I had not regarded Bath lodgings from that point of view," said Mr. Darcy. "Are you making a long stay here, may I ask?"

"Yes, we hope to remain for some weeks. I always enjoy Bath so much at this time of year; and so does Mr. Ferrars. I consider it infinitely preferable to the autumn season, do not you, Mr. Darcy? All the best people seem to come now, and one is not likely to meet anyone whose acquaintance one would not wish to continue afterwards."

Mr. Darcy took advantage of this pause, during which his companion helped herself to fish, to consider what reply he should truthfully make to such a sentiment; but before Mrs. Ferrars could insist upon his agreeing with her, he was called upon by his aunt from the end of the table to support her in a flat contradiction of General Tilney, who was undoubtedly getting the best of a somewhat heated argument. Elizabeth was not more fortunate in her companion. The wearisome descriptions of this or that friend's house, habits, achievements, which were all that Robert Ferrars could contribute to the conversation, were almost more than could be endured with patience throughout a long dinner, even by one who could derive quiet amusement from almost any kind of harmless absurdity; and it was with a sigh of relief that Elizabeth heard her aunt's peremptory command that everyone should go and put on their coats and cloaks, for she would not have her party arrive late for the beginning of the concert.

The ladies were distributed among various coaches, while the gentlemen walked on. Elizabeth found that her companions were to be her cousin and Miss Anne Steele; and during the drive she had leisure to remark, with great astonishment, the evident intimacy which existed between the young women. Anne tried to draw her into their discussions; but finding Mrs. Darcy resolutely silent, she turned to Miss de Bourgh, and began to rally her on the becomingness of the gown which the latter was wearing, accompanying her remarks with many giggles, mysterious whispers and covert references to "favourite colour" and "smart uniforms" which made Elizabeth wonder that her cousin could tolerate such treatment for an instant. But poor Anne de Bourgh's nature, only half developed by reason of her ill-health and her mother's forcefulness of character, had yielded entirely to the dominating influence exercised over her by a person nearer her own age, and one who made an effort to understand and play upon her weakness. Elizabeth soon began to perceive the secret of the intimacy—Miss Steele, in her anxiety to recommend herself to the de Bourgh family, had discovered that by enlivening and flattering the daughter she might best become a person of value to the mother. Anne Steele's last words before the carriage stopped were intended to be inaudible to Elizabeth, and put the final touch to her disgust and dislike.

"Me and Lucy will be so miserable if you give us up now these grand cousins of yours are come down, Miss Anne!"

Miss de Bourgh made what was for her a vehement motion of dissent, and when they had entered the room, Elizabeth, having piloted her charges to Lady Catherine's side, found a seat for herself as far as possible from anyone connected with the Steele family. Her husband joined her just before the concert began, and in the double pleasure of listening to the music and feeling his proximity, she forgot the previous vexations of the evening.

"Well, how have you been getting on?" inquired a voice behind her, in the first pause.

"Why, Fitzwilliam!" exclaimed Darcy, glancing round, "what business have you up at this end? You ought to be squiring the young ladies down there by my aunt."

"Poor Robert!" said Elizabeth. "He is only off duty for half an hour."

"That is it," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I was exhausted, and seeing this empty chair, I forthwith occupied it. Besides, I want to hear the harp solo in peace and quiet. I have not heard the harp played for years, and I am exceedingly fond of it."

"That is the next one, I see. Hush, now! I know this man is going to sing out of tune. He looks like it."

"We ought to have some compensation for listening to that," murmured Darcy, when the song was done. "I believe Mr. Collins would have given us a better performance."

"He certainly is rather like Mr. Collins," remarked Elizabeth reflectively. "Here comes the harp—and what a lovely girl! Is her name on the programme? Yes, Miss Crawford."

Mary Crawford, who since Dr. Grant's death had entirely lived with her sister, Mrs. Grant, at Bath, had lost none of the beauty and charm which had captivated the heart of Edmund Bertram: indeed, the four years which had elapsed since then had given her form and air more regal elegance. The knowledge of sorrow, and regret that she had so much to injure her own chances of happiness, had softened her nature, and now, more gentle, womanly and sympathetic, she was in many ways a different creature from the brilliant Miss Crawford of former days. Mrs. Grant, while loving her devotedly and rejoicing in her companionship, still grieved in secret that no suitor worthy of her dear Mary should ever have succeeded Edmund Bertram, and that no second attachment should have taken place of one which, though renounced without bitterness, had nevertheless left a deep mark upon her sister's character. In Bath their lives were full of interest, and they made many friends; but Mary always laughed at her sister's plans for her marrying, and returned the same kind of answer. "I expect so much, you know, and the chosen he must expect so little, that I doubt whether we should ever come to terms."

Her sister would protest against this, knowing well the real worth of the disposition which Mary hid under a careless and sometimes cold manner; but she also knew that Mary would be more difficult to satisfy, both as regards her own qualities and those of her possible husband, in consequence of the better taste she had acquired at Mansfield. This evening, Miss Crawford, who had consented to perform solely on account of the charitable object of the concert, was out of humour with herself and all the world. Her sister being unwell, she had been obliged to accept an escort to the concert, the company of Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, whom, as residents in Bath, she had known since the time of her sister's settling there. Miss Crawford's beauty of face and figure were exactly what would recommend Sir Walter; and while condemning her sister as dull and unfashionable, nothing delighted him more than to be seen in public as squire of the charming and elegant Miss Crawford. Six months' acquaintance had caused her, on her side, thoroughly to weary of him, and on the few occasions when she could not avoid a meeting she endeavoured to converse with his eldest daughter, whom she found only a degree less tiresome and empty-headed. To-night, however, there was no help for it. With them she had come, with them she must remain, unluckily placed at a distance from any of her other Bath friends, her enjoyment of the music spoiled by her companions' irrelevant chatter, her only pleasure to acquit herself creditably in the piece she had chosen to play. This, at all events, was in her power, she felt, as she ascended the platform and shook off sensations of listlessness and ennui; and she succeeded so well that the audience were roused to a display of their delight and enthusiasm, and she had to return twice to acknowledge their plaudits. Next moment she perceived, or thought she perceived, that owing to an increased crowd in the lower part of the room she could not easily get back to her seat without making a little disturbance; so she slipped into a chair in the front row, which was allotted to the performers, thankful even for a short respite.

When the interval came, she remained where she was, and, a few minutes later, seeing the gentleman who had been the chief promoter of the concert trying to attract her attention, she rose unwillingly, supposing that Sir Walter Elliot had come to claim her. What was her surprise to hear Mr. Durand say: "Lady Catherine de Bourgh particularly wishes to know you. May I present you to her?"

Mary felt that she had not had much choice in the matter, but she found herself curtseying to a tall and formidable-looking elderly lady, dressed in rich brocades, who surveyed her as if from a great height, and said: "Allow me to tell you, Miss Crawford, how much pleased I was with your late performance on the harp. I have heard every harp player of note in Europe during the last forty years, and I may say I consider you quite equal to those of the second rank. Though not a performer myself, I am quite acquainted with the difficulties of the instrument."

Mary hardly knew whether to be more vexed or amused at this extraordinary address, and might have been inclined towards the former, had not Mrs. Darcy, who had seen the beginning of the incident, and hastened forward lest her aunt's insolent patronage should offend, interposed with a kindly: "We have all been enjoying your piece so much. It must be delightful to be able to play like that. My aunt is such a lover of music that she cannot hide her enthusiasm."

"And why should I hide it, may I ask?" demanded Lady Catherine. "My judgment has often been of great service to young amateurs, among whom you might include yourself, Elizabeth."

"Yes, I know," replied Elizabeth, good-humouredly. "But Miss Crawford cannot be classed with the average amateur. May I introduce myself, as Mr. Durand has gone away? I am Mrs. Darcy. I saw you sitting with the Elliots, so perhaps you know a great friend of mine, Mrs. Wentworth."

Miss Crawford was about to enter gladly into the subject of Mrs. Wentworth, when Lady Catherine interposed, and in a few minutes, before Mary had quite realized what was happening, she found herself giving the assurance that Mrs. Grant would be delighted to receive a visit from Lady Catherine and Mrs. Darcy, and that she herself would be present at Lady Catherine's reception in Pulteney Street in a fortnight's time. She hardly knew how it had all come about, and she found herself wondering, as she was led back to her seat by Sir Walter Elliot, whether it was Lady Catherine's domineering manner, or Mrs. Darcy's kind looks, that she had yielded to so easily. The Elliots were eager with their questions. What? she did not know that that was Lady Catherine de Bourgh? Everyone knew Lady Catherine, she came to Bath every year—a very well-preserved old lady, must be quite sixty and does not look more than forty-eight—people of property—large estate in Kent—"an acquaintance quite worth following up, my dear Miss Crawford; of course we, with our already large circle of friends, could not attempt to include persons who only come here for a short time; otherwise we should have been very happy to have visited Lady Catherine."

[Chapter III]

The Darcys found plenty to enjoy during their stay in Bath, as after dutifully allotting part of the day to a call on Lady Catherine, or to joining her at the Lower Rooms, they were free to make their own engagements, and passed a good deal of their time with Lord and Lady Portinscale, Mr. Morland and the Wentworths, Colonel Fitzwilliam invariably forming one of the party. James Morland, the Portinscales' youngest guest, had favourably impressed them from the first, being a young man of sense, education and good address. The experience he had gained from his somewhat unfortunate friendship with the Thorpe family, followed by his closer acquaintance with the Tilneys, had been an incalculable benefit to him in helping to form his character and in teaching him what are the qualities in a friend which win sincere love and respect. Hard work, resolution and regret for his own follies, and the encouragement and kindness he had received from his relations, had combined to put Isabella Thorpe out of his head, and to recuperate a heart he had thought blighted over for ever. He had within the last few weeks been obliged to resign the curacy he had held since his ordination, on account of the ill effects of the air of the valley on his health; and was now earnestly hoping to grow strong enough to resume work in some other part of the country, as he had, of course, resolved upon remaining a bachelor all his life, and making his church and parish suffice in place of domestic joys. His somewhat diffident manner in the society of men so much older than himself as Mr. Darcy and Captain Wentworth did him no disservice with them; and before they had known the particulars of his history for many days, Mr. Darcy was meditating upon the possibility of giving him material assistance in his career.

In the meantime, Elizabeth, independently of Lady Catherine, had exchanged calls with Mrs. Grant, whom she found anxious to be friendly, more anxious, indeed, than Mary, who, while appreciating Mrs. Darcy's kindness and charm, greatly disliked the patronizing manners of the mistress of Rosings Park. A few days after the concert the sisters spent a morning in Mrs. Darcy's sitting-room. Elizabeth had never neglected her study of the pianoforte or of singing, and as Mary, at the earnest request of her hostess, had brought her harp, the pleasure of the whole party, sometimes in conversation, sometimes in music, was ensured.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is very fond of music, is he not?" Mrs. Grant said to Mrs. Darcy, glancing across the room to where the Colonel and her sister were engaged in animated discussion of the latest importations from German composers. "He really does like it, does not praise it out of mere politeness?"

"My dear Mrs. Grant! He is the most enthusiastic amateur I know. I often tell my husband that he would never have fallen in love with me if Colonel Fitzwilliam and I had not struck up a friendship over music, which made him think there was more in me than he had perceived before. He himself is not such a good judge of it, but my cousin was greatly struck with your sister's playing the other night, and it really is appreciation from him."

"I am so glad: it will be a pleasure to Mary to meet him. Excuse my asking—I cannot quite understand—does he live with you or with your aunt?"

"With neither; he is our guest when we are in Bath, and he stays a great deal with us in the country; but he has rooms in London, and, I think, honestly prefers town as a residence, but that he is so fond of my husband and all his belongings."

There was a pause, and then Elizabeth added, a sudden thought having flashed through her mind: "He is an excellent man; it is impossible for us to think more highly of anyone than we do of him; but he labours under what he considers to be an insuperable disadvantage—he is a younger son, and therefore not much blessed with this world's goods."

She had hardly finished speaking when the door opened to admit two ladies, whom she recognized as her aunt's latest protégées.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Anne Steele, before she was fairly in the room; "quite a cosy little musical party, I declare! Lord! what a pity we have interrupted the music! We wouldn't have if we'd have known! And here we've run all the way upstairs—"

Lucy managed to silence her sister, and began a kind of tour of the room, making formal greetings to everyone she knew, and pausing in so pointed a way before Mrs. Grant and Mary, that Elizabeth, with great reluctance, was obliged to introduce Mrs. Robert Ferrars and Miss Steele. This accomplished, Lucy's errand was allowed to be divulged.

"We are driving out with Lady Catherine in the barouche landau, and she called here in passing, to say if Colonel Fitzwilliam was in she would like him to come too and make a fourth," she explained, with assistance from Anne. "We are not going far," she added for the benefit of the company in general; "only to Monkton Combe and back before dinner. Poor Miss de Bourgh is so very unwell to-day she did not feel inclined to drive out; and my sister and I just happened to be calling in Pulteney Street as Lady Catherine was starting out, so she was so very kind as to bring us along."

"It is fortunate," said Elizabeth smilingly, "that my aunt was able to secure your companionship; for, as I have visitors, I am not sure that I could spare my cousin this morning." She glanced at Fitzwilliam, who was impatiently waiting for an opportunity to answer. "No, certainly not. I am much obliged, but I am not able to come to-day."

Miss Steele's manner suffered from a diminution of sprightliness, even while she urged on the Colonel the necessity of taking advantage of the fine weather; but Darcy quietly interposed with: "Is my aunt's carriage at the door?" Lucy was obliged to admit that it was.

"Shall we go and make your excuses then, Fitzwilliam," he continued, "if our guests will kindly excuse us for a moment? Will you give Mrs. Ferrars your arm? Mrs. Ferrars, I greatly regret not being able to detain you, but I know it would not be kind, as my aunt has such a dislike to be kept waiting, especially in the open street."

The result of this was, that without quite knowing how it happened, Lucy and her sister found themselves in the hall again almost as soon as the waiter showed them up; were in the carriage, and driving away, the apologies of the gentlemen having been graciously accepted, and Mr. Darcy was saying to his friend as they returned: "The only way with these people is firmness; you are much too gentle."

"I don't feel particularly gentle after that interruption," replied the other, "though you got me out of it very well. My aunt seems to have a special grudge against me this time. I suppose she is working off her irritation; well, rather on me than on your sister."

"I do not believe it is that," answered Darcy; "she is, and always was, a tool in the hands of unscrupulous flatterers. If it were worthwhile, Elizabeth and I would rush to the rescue; but there is sure to be a tremendous explosion before long; they will all quarrel violently, she will come and tell us that they are ungrateful vipers, or something like that, and next year it will begin all over again with someone else."

"Well!" cried Elizabeth, as they opened the door, "did Aunt Catherine mind?"

"No, he has got off with a whole skin this time," replied her husband, "or rather, not quite a whole one, for he has had to pledge himself to join the expedition to Clifton to-morrow instead."

"I had forgotten that expedition to Clifton," Elizabeth exclaimed in dismay; "I wish it would rain! But if it did, we should only have to go another day. Mr. Morland, have you been to Clifton? Oh, do say it will be quite new to you! You can't? Is there no one who has never been there? My aunt makes up a party every year, for her newest friends, and we always do the same things and make the same remarks."

Elizabeth's forecast created much amusement, and Miss Crawford said: "Everything I hear beforehand of Lady Catherine is very alarming to a stranger like myself. I shall have to have caught a bad cold before her reception next week, for I shall not have the courage to appear and play."

"Oh, no, Miss Crawford, you must appear," said Darcy. "We are all too bad, with our jokes about her, for really she means to be very kind. But we have got into shocking ways since my wife married into the family."

"On the contrary, I think I have educated you all admirably."

"You are a privileged person, you see," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Miss Crawford, will you do us the kindness of playing again? I want to reap the advantage of the present moment, as the reception is a long way off."

The lady acceded with willingness, and at the conclusion of her piece Colonel Fitzwilliam sat down near her and found himself soon conversing with more ease and enjoyment than he had done for many months. Their talk was only of the most ordinary subjects; but the Colonel's simplicity and culture appealed to the best that was in Mary, and he found in her a ready sympathy, felt rather than expressed. His views of London life—so pleasant, so stimulating for the greater part of the year, but the country was better for a permanent home—exactly coincided with Mary's; and almost to her surprise, she heard herself vehemently asserting that town might be the place to make friends, but the country was the place to enjoy them. "You are a lover of country sports?" questioned the Colonel; "of riding and driving?" Mary answered enthusiastically, though repressing a sigh at the recollection of her first riding lessons. Did she ride at Bath? He could recommend her some good livery stables. His cousin, Mrs. Darcy, did not care for it, else some agreeable plans might have been made.

Meantime, the conversation was quite as animated in the other group. James Morland was asking if the ladies were those whom General Tilney and his son had lately met at dinner in Pulteney Street.

"Yes, you are right," replied Elizabeth. "Did you hear of that dinner-party?"

"Lady Portinscale told me. I should not otherwise have known, for I don't see much of the General and Captain Tilney," James Morland answered with a smile.

"I thought Eleanor told me all was forgiven?"

"Catherine is, but her relations do not pass the censor. Still, it does not matter in the least, so long as he is kind to her, and I think I may say he is."

"I suppose he is often at the Portinscales'?" observed Elizabeth.

"Fairly often, but Lord Portinscale contrives that he does not stay too long; he thinks it worries Eleanor, and, as you know, she is anxious to take care of herself and go in thoroughly for the cure."

"Dear Eleanor! I am so devoted to her."

"Yes, indeed, one would be; she is the kindest friend anyone could possibly have. Do you know, Mrs. Darcy, they insist on my having a sitting-room to myself, where I can read undisturbed, or I can spend my time with them, just as I like."

"That is a nice arrangement; and you are better for coming to Bath?"

"Yes, a great deal better. I should be able to get to work in a very short time now, if only" (rather mournfully), "some work could be found."

"I am sure it can, if you are patient," said Elizabeth kindly. "The very thing one wants often drops upon one unexpectedly. Do you know our part of the world at all? You must come and pay us a visit some time; the Derbyshire air is splendidly bracing, and would benefit you."

Morland said all that was proper, and Elizabeth, who had been trying unsuccessfully to catch her husband's eye, continued: "We are fortunate in our Rector at home, and even more fortunate in his wife; they have just come to Pemberley, and oddly enough, they are related to these very people of whom we have been talking, but as different from them as possible."

"Indeed! the Ferrars, or Steele—I have not made them out yet—"

"Mr. Edward Ferrars, our Rector, is a brother of Mr. Robert Ferrars, husband of the lady in blue. It is rather difficult to keep Mrs. Robert Ferrars off the subject when she is with us, as she seems to think it establishes a sort of connection, although they don't visit their relations."

"Perhaps they will do so now," said Morland, with a slight smile. "It is your own parish that you mentioned?"

"Yes, it is a fair-sized village that has grown up round the house, or, rather, round a much older house that formerly stood on the site. It is such beautiful country, Mr. Morland! You really must see it."

Mrs. Grant came towards Elizabeth to take leave, and they stood chatting together while Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Crawford rose and joined them.

"To-morrow, then, at eleven o'clock, you are sure suits you?" the gentleman was saying. "Mrs. Grant, your sister has been so kind as to say that, with your permission, I may be her escort on a ride, if a horse can be found that suits her."

"Riding? She will enjoy that," said Mrs. Grant, with momentary surprise. "She has not ridden for a long time. We have never tried to get her a horse in Bath."

It seemed that the whole thing had been thought out—all difficulties could be got over, Colonel Fitzwilliam assured her, if she would trust her sister to him for an hour or two; and Mary having expressed a proper amount of amiability and approbation, the arrangement was confirmed.

"But what about your engagement—the day at Clifton?" Mrs. Grant unluckily remembered, in the midst of the adieux. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked as if he were determined to forget the existence of such a place; Mr. Darcy reproached himself for having furthered the scheme; and Miss Crawford immediately said: "Oh, pray do not give that up on my account. We can ride another day, if we care about it."

"Not at all, Miss Crawford. Excuse me, but I should not think of giving up our plan. It is not at all necessary for me to go to Clifton."

"It would not be fair to make you break a prior engagement. No, let us put it off from to-morrow," was the lady's response.

Elizabeth interposed with, "If you and Miss Crawford went out a little earlier, you could still be at Clifton in time for dinner, Robert, which would quite satisfy my aunt."

Darcy joined his advice to his wife's; and as a matter can generally be easily arranged by a number of people who are all in favour of it, the ride was fixed for ten o'clock, and the ladies took their departure among many promises of meeting again. James Morland shortly afterwards left, Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanying him as far as his road lay in the direction of the livery stables; and Elizabeth sat down to write letters, but she had not got very far before a new idea struck her which must immediately be acted upon. "Darcy," she exclaimed, rising and going to her husband, who was occupied with the newspaper, "can you listen to me? I want to help Mr. Morland in some way. I was thinking about it this morning while I was talking to him. He ought to have work to do, and he is such a good young fellow. Could you not make him Mr. Ferrars's curate, or something?"

Darcy smiled at his wife's earnestness. "You will be surprised to hear, my dear, that I had already thought of helping him."

"You had? How good of you. You can do it better than anyone else. He will be an object worthy of your interest."

"But though I had considered the question of the curacy, I had dismissed it as unsatisfactory. Mr. Ferrars does not want a curate, and Mr. Morland does want a living. I do not know if I told you that I heard before I went away that the old Rector of Kympton was likely to resign. If so, I shall have a living to present."

"And did you think of Mr. Morland? How delightful that would be. The very thing for him."

"We must not say anything about it at present, for I cannot hurry the old man out; but I expect to hear in the course of a month."

"I am sure you can bring it about successfully. How well everything is going to-day! Some dreadful catastrophe is sure to happen soon."

"What else has gone well?"

"Why, Robert's getting on so excellently with Miss Crawford. She is such a thoroughly nice woman, and it is certain to do Robert good."

"I would not think too much about that, Lizzy. Robert gets on well with all nice women, and as to Miss Crawford, I should say she is accustomed to receiving a considerable amount of admiration."

"Nonsense! You shall not spoil my pleasure in it. Why should they not be friends and nothing more? I took care to do him a good turn too; I told Mrs. Grant the thing I could about him, namely, that he is not well off. I knew he would tell them himself, and make the most of it, in that disparaging way he has, as if it were a great blot on his character, or some serious personal defect. He has become so diffident the last few months that I have no patience with him! He does not value himself properly, and causes people to undervalue him."

"One cannot say that diffidence is a fault of Miss Crawford's other admirer, Sir Walter Elliot."

"No, the tiresome, dressed-up doll! She is so sensible, that I cannot understand her having those people for her friends."

"Perhaps she has no choice. Possibly the acquaintance was of their seeking; she may have made a mistake. Who knows? Even the wisest of us may sometimes be mistaken in our estimates of one another, may we not, Elizabeth?"

[Chapter IV]

The ride duly took place on the following morning, and the circumstances caused Elizabeth much secret pleasure. Her husband hesitated to attach any importance to the friendship thus inaugurated, and did not care to consider the possibilities arising out of it, for the engagement between his sister and his cousin had been a scheme very near his heart, and when it failed he was so much disappointed that he could not give up the idea of Fitzwilliam's being disappointed too. It was difficult for him to imagine that a man who had lost Georgiana could console himself with another woman, however talented and charming. It therefore followed that Elizabeth was compelled to keep her satisfaction to herself, and being very anxious that nothing should be said to dispel it, she refrained from giving any account of her cousin when the carriages assembled before her aunt's door at eleven o'clock. With a warning glance at her husband, she replied to Lady Catherine's peremptory inquiries that Robert had an engagement that morning, but he would join them at dinner, coming over on horseback.

"An engagement!" repeated Lady Catherine haughtily. "I was not aware that any engagement could have a prior claim, when my party has been made up for some days. It is very annoying. The result is that you have an empty seat in your carriage; if we had known, Captain Tilney's gig would not have been wanted."

"Perhaps Captain Tilney would not mind giving poor little me a seat in his gig," suggested Miss Steele, who, since she saw that the honour of sharing a back seat with Colonel Fitzwilliam was denied her, had been revolving the next most advantageous plan in her mind. Captain Tilney, who was already in his gig, hoping that his destined companion had not yet appeared, looked round for a way of escape: but from Lady Catherine's generalship there was none, and she said, after a moment's consideration: "Very well, I suppose that must do. I had intended—but when people are so extremely ungrateful—I sent a note round last night to Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford, Elizabeth, asking them to join us. They actually declined. It is not often that I go out of my way to take notice of strangers—"

"My dear aunt," interrupted Darcy, "had we not better start? We are collecting a crowd in the street. Miss Steele, may I help you into the gig? I suppose your sister and her husband will go with my aunt and Miss de Bourgh. Take care of the wheel. Tilney, your horse looks as if he were going to leave us all behind. Now, Mrs. Ferrars. It is a good thing we have a spare seat, you know, madam. Mr. Morland can take care of the baskets and the wraps. If you like, we can make different arrangement in coming home."

The carriages drove off, and Elizabeth, in the highest spirits, congratulated her husband on his disposal of the Steele faction. The party, however, was not destined to be so successfully divided for the whole day, and while they were all strolling about at Clifton, in the hour preceding diner, Elizabeth was taken possession of by her aunt, to listen to some severe strictures upon her management of the family affairs.

"I blame you exceedingly, Elizabeth, for not using your influence with Fitzwilliam. He ought to go about with the rest of us in an ordinary way, not wander off by himself, heaven knows where. That is not the way to teach him to forget that affair, which so unfortunately miscarried under your guidance."

"But, Aunt, we cannot control his movements as if he were a child. He naturally goes where he likes and makes his own friends."

"His own friends, yes, indeed! Desirable friends they must be, to cause him to break an engagement with his nearest relations. I think it is quite time that he were taken in hand by someone who cares as much for his welfare as I do. Even at his age a man cannot be trusted to know what is best for himself. I always thought no good would come of it when you and Darcy took so much pains to throw him and Georgiana together. Your own family's matrimonial affairs have always been conducted in such extraordinary lines—"

"We will leave my family out of the discussion, please, Aunt Catherine. I do assure you that the breaking of Georgiana's engagement was for the best in every way."

"Of course, I know you feel bound to defend your handiwork, and I am only too glad to think that my dear nephew has not suffered more than he has from the effects. Perhaps next time you will agree that he should be guided by the advice of those older and wiser than himself."

"Certainly, Aunt Catherine," returned Elizabeth, who only endured these remarks by making allowance for her aunt's disappointment. "Or perhaps it might be better to let him choose a wife, if he wants one, entirely by himself."

"I should prefer that he should choose one of whom I could approve, and that I could be sure, next time an engagement is made, that it is not likely to be broken," returned Lady Catherine. "When I was a young girl a betrothal was regarded as a very serious thing, one not lightly to be cast aside because of a fancied change of feeling."

Elizabeth had begun to wonder how much longer she could bear this conversation, when the opportune arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam caused his aunt's attention to be concentrated upon him to the exclusion of everyone else; and Elizabeth was pleased to observe his contented air and cheerful manner while he laughingly parried his aunt's cross-examination, and even submitted to the advances of Miss Steele, who, delighted to find him more approachable than usual, continued to address all her remarks to him while they visited the Pump Room and strolled down towards the river. Elizabeth found herself obliged to pair off with Mrs. Ferrars, but Lucy, who possessed a considerably larger share of adroitness than her sister, perceived at once that different methods were necessary to recommend herself to Mrs. Darcy than to Lady Catherine, and had for some days been endeavouring to show herself equal to the standard of elegance required by a young lady. On this occasion she began by expressing warm enjoyment of the concert a few nights before.

"Yes," said Elizabeth, "it was a good concert, very much above the average of those things, I thought."

"Oh, it was charming! I do not know when I have been more delighted! That exquisite Italian song! The air of it runs in my memory still."

"You must have a good memory, for those florid operatic songs are the most difficult things to remember."

"Ah, dear Mrs. Darcy, I fear you undervalue your powers. We all know what an accomplished musician and critic you are." Elizabeth disclaimed; but Mrs. Ferrars continued perseveringly: "You prefer instrumental music, perhaps? It is no doubt a sign of a more cultivated taste."

Elizabeth was somewhat amused. "I do prefer instrumental music, but only because it is the kind I understand best."

"Then of course you appreciated the playing of that young lady, Miss Crawford. I suppose it was very wonderful. Lady Catherine was much struck by it."

"I do not know that it was wonderful, but Miss Crawford has a great gift, and plays with all the feeling and charm one would expect of her."

"You know her well, do you not?" asked Lucy.

"Not very well, but I do hope to know her better."

Lucy meditated upon this: it was not very agreeable news to her; if Mrs. Darcy saw much of Miss Crawford, it would mean that Colonel Fitzwilliam would see a good deal of her, too. Lucy felt that after poor Anne's many failures, success did not look more probable here; and the result of her reflections was the question: "Is Miss Crawford as rich as they say?"

"I do not know what Miss Crawford's fortune is," replied Elizabeth in cold surprise. "She and her sister appear comfortably off."

"Oh, I only meant—" began Lucy, confused. "She is said to be such a great heiress, that I often wonder why she has never married." Then, as her companion did not speak, she added: "They say that perhaps she will be the next Lady Elliot, and that would be most suitable, would it not? his title and her fortune."

"I should not think such a match was very probable, but I scarcely know Sir Walter Elliot," replied Elizabeth.

Lucy could not help pursuing the subject. "Do you think Miss Crawford very pretty?" she inquired.

"She is very graceful and sweet looking; and her face has a great deal of animation, which is always so attractive," answered Elizabeth.

"Her complexion has rather lost its bloom, though, and she is so unbecomingly thin," Lucy ventured to say.

"I have not remarked it," returned Elizabeth, vexed with herself for having drifted into anything like an intimate conversation with Mrs. Ferrars. "Shall we join Lady Catherine? She is evidently wanting to collect the party. It must be nearly time to start for home."

Lucy saw that she had made a mistake, and covered it as well as she could by saying: "Oh, but I think Miss Crawford charming, I assure you, and so talented. I wish we could have heard the harp when we were calling on you yesterday morning."

"You will have another opportunity of doing so at my aunt's reception next week," said her companion.

Mrs. Darcy had been quite conscious of the undercurrent in Mrs. Ferrars's mind during this conversation, for she had perceived the aspirations of Miss Steele, supported as she was by her sister, towards Colonel Fitzwilliam; and Elizabeth felt the extreme importance of preventing any hint from being dropped which might open her cousin's eyes to the situation, or even to the fact that anyone thought there was a situation. A word of raillery from Miss Steele, or of archness from Mrs. Ferrars, would be enough to drive him from Bath in disgust; he would resent nothing more deeply than the imputation of his paying court to an heiress, and persons of the Steele kind, Elizabeth knew, would be able to make remarks of a character most difficult for him to bear. The friendship between himself and Miss Crawford was at that time in the stage when a very small incident might affect it one way or the other; and Elizabeth felt miserably uncomfortable until she found herself safely at home again, and their little party of three collected round the fireside in their lodgings, Mr. Morland having been dropped at his rooms.

"Well, Robert, I did not have the chance to ask you," she began, trying to speak unconcernedly; "did you enjoy your ride this morning, and where did you go?"

"I enjoyed it very much, thank you," replied the Colonel, "though we did not go far, only about three miles on the Wells road."

"That was a pity," said Darcy; "you ought to have had a good gallop on the downs."

"I wished to do so," said the Colonel, "but I fancied Miss Crawford was a little disinclined for it. She seemed so much afraid I should be late in arriving at Clifton and always talking of turning back."

"You must go farther another time," said Elizabeth.

"Yes, I hope so indeed," responded her cousin; "it is perfect weather for riding, and Miss Crawford is a horsewoman such as one seldom sees."

"Talking of horses, either Tilney is not much of a driver, or else he took pleasure in frightening that Miss Steele to-day," remarked Darcy. "You did not see, did you, Robert? No, it was on the way up there. He let his horse gallop down the long hill—I thought the gig would have been upset—and the silly girl actually caught hold of one rein."

"I thought Miss Steele seemed very unwilling to drive back with him," said Fitzwilliam with a smile. "By the way, have you noticed what a wonderful girl she is for asking questions? She almost equals my aunt."

Elizabeth felt her fears returning, and inquired: "Did she manage to find questions to ask you, Robert?"

"I should think she did. She was trying to extract from me why I had not arrived earlier and what I had been doing. I had to admit that I had been riding, and in some way of her own she dragged Miss Crawford's name in too. I simply pretended not to hear, and began talking vigorously about something else. How in the world it can matter to her whether I was riding with Miss Crawford, or Miss Anybody, I fail to understand."

"She is an inquisitive little minx, and I cannot bear her," Elizabeth exclaimed emphatically. "Fitzwilliam, do let us go home. I don't like Bath this year, or the people in it. We can ask the nice ones, like Miss Crawford and Mr. Morland, to stay with us at Pemberley."

"I am quite willing to return, my dear," replied Darcy; "but it would not do to leave before my aunt's reception, or to admit ourselves driven away by a Miss Steele."

"Of course we will stay over the sixteenth, but we will go after that; it only means a week or two less than our ordinary visit. The Wentworths are leaving, and Eleanor Portinscale is too unwell for me to see anything of her, and Aunt Catherine has her extraordinary friends to amuse her; there is really nothing to keep us. You will come too, will you not, Robert?"

To this the Colonel made no reply, and Elizabeth interpreted his silence as her wishes dictated.

The next few days passed without any special event to mark them. Elizabeth wished more and more to leave Bath, and to be able to persuade Colonel Fitzwilliam to come too; for she felt an uneasiness that would not be stifled as to the outcome of the various friendships that had been inaugurated that year. In particular, she suspected the Steele and Ferrars faction of making some mischief with her aunt; they were incessantly with her, and it seemed to Elizabeth that Lady Catherine was becoming what, with all her faults of overbearing pride, haughtiness and love of flattery, she had never been before, namely, suspicious of evil motives and thoughts in those around her. When her nephew and niece were with her she would question them, and hardly accept their explanation of their occupations at other times; she blamed everybody for what they were doing, Mr. Morland for accepting the hospitality of the Portinscales, Lady Portinscale for not entertaining, Captain Tilney for not marrying, Anne Steele for wishing to do so, Colonel Fitzwilliam for coming to Bath, and Georgiana for staying away. Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford were criticized for being in such an expensive place; but on the whole, Lady Catherine said but little about them in a general way, which Elizabeth regarded as a bad sign, for she was sure, that as friends of her choice, Lady Catherine must have a great deal to say in private in their disfavour.

As to James Morland, Elizabeth felt there was everything to be said in defence of his present situation; but she was so anxious for it to be known that he was on the way to obtaining work, that she wanted to be at home, in order to set the necessary arrangements in motion; though her husband laughed at the idea of the vicar's resigning any sooner, because the patron happened to be at Pemberley instead of at Bath.

It was, however, in regard to the progressing friendship between Mary Crawford and Colonel Fitzwilliam that Elizabeth felt most troubled, and as long as she remained in Bath, most helpless. Mary and Mrs. Grant would not come and see her more often than she visited them; and although there were numberless opportunities of meeting at the Rooms, the gardens, the theatre, and other public places, on these occasions there always seemed to be something to interfere with the enjoyment of their little party. Either Lady Catherine was there, with the Steeles, who could be depended on to break up any rational conversation or other amusement, or, worse still, Sir Walter and Miss Elliot would appear on the scene, and assuming the privileges of an older acquaintance, would take possession of Mary and draw her away from her newer friends with many protests of "having been quite deserted—of having so much to say to our dear Miss Crawford, whom we have missed so terribly lately." They had, of course, a slight previous acquaintance with the Darcys, whom they had intended to become intimate with at one time, as people of fashion; but to Miss Elliot's intense chagrin, Mrs. Darcy had been quite unresponsive to her, and had instead formed a friendship with her younger sister, Mrs. Wentworth. Although the Wentworths and the Darcys were frequently together, Elizabeth could not well confide her difficulties to Anne, when it was so evident that Sir Walter Elliot was another admirer of Miss Crawford, and not at all evident in which direction the lady's choice would lie! It was hard to believe that she could find true pleasure in the company of Sir Walter, with his tedious inanities, or of Miss Elliot, with her artificiality and pride, and yet at times she seemed to greet them almost with a heartiness, and be glad to join them, even though she might have been a moment before in conversation with the Darcy party and showing them her real self in a charming and spontaneous gaiety. But those who watched closely might have noticed that these times coincided with the appearance of Lady Catherine, who, on seeing her nephew Colonel Fitzwilliam, usually endeavoured to detach him from the group he was in and to join him to her own. He, on his part, was always most unwilling to relinquish the society of Miss Crawford, but she gave him no chance to do otherwise, gliding away with a pleasant word of farewell before Lady Catherine's insistent "I want you, Fitzwilliam, if you can spare me a few moments," made itself heard. He had no key to her behaviour; sometimes it seemed to him as if she really liked him, and as if he might venture to hope he could make her like him more; and then, again, Sir Walter Elliot was so frequently at her elbow, with the compliments and gallantries which seemed to be his native language, and were so foreign, Colonel Fitzwilliam thought, to himself, that, naturally diffident, distrusting his powers to charm and attract, he often felt as if it were hopeless even to think of becoming a suitor; while at the same time his deepening love for Mary compelled him to persevere.

Elizabeth perceived some part of all this, and longed to help; but there was something about Mary's reserve that made it impossible to win her confidence, or to do anything more for Colonel Fitzwilliam than his own powers were able to do for him. Mary never gave him what could be construed into the smallest encouragement; it was only by observing that with him she seemed to be able to talk more naturally, to express her real opinions more frankly, that Elizabeth could surmise his interest in her to be in the slightest degree reciprocated. Had it not been for the very strong liking Elizabeth had formed for her new friend, she would have been disposed to think that her cousin's happiness would best be furthered by separating him from a pleasure that might become such great pain. But after a conversation with him, in which he briefly admitted his growing attachment and the existence of his hopes, she could not advise him to give up the quest, and could only assure him of her sympathy and belief in Mary's being a prize worth winning. He confessed that he felt it was doing a wrong to Georgiana to indulge in such thoughts so short a time after leaving her, and reproached himself with his presumption in thinking that so brilliant and admired creature as Mary could have any warmth of feeling for "a battered old soldier like this," as he styled himself. Elizabeth tried to reason him out of these scruples, and to give him all the good counsel that her knowledge of his character suggested. She found that he did not believe he had at present the remotest chance of being accepted; he only hoped, while they remained in Bath, to win his way in Miss Crawford's esteem, and to be assured that she had no preference for any other man.

[Chapter V]

Elizabeth was anxious to see as much of Miss Crawford as possible before their departure from Bath, which was now fixed for the 17th of April, the day after Lady Catherine's reception. She accordingly made an excuse to walk down to Mrs. Grant's house on the day before with the piece of music, which it had occurred to her might be arranged with a setting for the harp; and she found Miss Crawford in and alone. Mary was wearing her bonnet and cloak and was wrapping up a parcel when Mrs. Darcy was announced; and the latter exclaimed that she would not stay, as Mary was just going out.

"No, no, I am not—it does not matter—I was only going to take this parcel to Miss Elliot's—pray sit down, Mrs. Darcy—I can send it by the boy"; and recalling the servant, Miss Crawford handed him the package with directions to take it to Camden Place. Then returning, she threw off her cloak and said: "It really does not signify in the least; it is only a fan Miss Elliot lent me a few evenings ago—as an excuse, she said, for seeing me again when I brought it back." This was spoken with a slight blush, but on Elizabeth's repeating her regrets she exclaimed: "Oh, but I would much rather stay and talk to you. I so seldom see you alone; one seldom does see anyone alone in Bath, I think. What have you brought? Some music? How delightful! You will play it to me now."

Elizabeth explained her scheme, and Miss Crawford examined the piece with great interest, and presently declared she thought it would make an admirable duet. As she walked across the room to the harp, Elizabeth remarked: "If you like it, we might play it to-morrow night at my aunt's reception."

Miss Crawford appeared to be busily tuning the strings of her harp, and it was after a moment's pause that she replied: "I do not think we shall be at Lady Catherine's reception."

"Not be there!" repeated Elizabeth, concealing her dismay as best she could. "I am very sorry for that; we shall all be sorry not to see you there."

"Thank you," returned Miss Crawford, and seemed unwilling to say more. Elizabeth, however, could not bear to leave the subject at that point, and after a few moments suggested that if Mrs. Grant did not feel equal to going, she herself would be delighted to call for Miss Crawford and take her to Pulteney Street.

"You are very kind, Mrs. Darcy, but it is not that," said Miss Crawford, at length turning round and showing a countenance expressive of some embarrassment. "The truth is," she continued, "and I know I can speak it to a friend like yourself, that I don't think Lady Catherine really wants such very small rushlights as ourselves in her firmament of glittering stars. She cannot be said to know us; she has not called here since I was introduced to her at that concert, and only sent us a note late one evening asking us to come next day to Clifton. I do not in the least mind being invited only on account of my music, but, as Frances and I always agree, since I am not paid in money, I must be in manners. Oh! I beg your pardon—" she stopped short, colouring and biting her lip—"I should not have said that. Lady Catherine has, of course, a perfect right to do as she likes. I daresay she has long forgotten having given me an invitation."

"My dear Miss Crawford," exclaimed Elizabeth, whose colour had also risen, "say no more; you quite put us all to shame. Was there ever such an ill-mannered family? Of course, I thought that my aunt had sent you and your sister an invitation in due form. You must let me take all the blame to myself, for having omitted to remind her; we had talked, we had assumed all this time that you would be at the reception, which must account for my unpardonable forgetfulness of what should have been an early and most pleasurable duty."

Miss Crawford tried to laugh the matter off by saying that it was in no respect Mrs. Darcy's fault, and that the whole thing was too trifling to deserve a moment's consideration; besides, she added, Mrs. Darcy had presented her sister to Lady Catherine on one occasion, and could not have done more; that she was sure she and Mrs. Grant would not be missed at such a large party, and that she hoped to have other opportunities of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.

"It is because I fear there will be so few more in Bath, owing to our departure for home, that I am so particularly sorry to lose this one, and also for the cause of it," returned Elizabeth. "I can quite enter into your feelings, Miss Crawford, but will you do a very kind and generous thing, and show that you have forgiven me by availing yourself of my aunt's invitation if she tenders it in a manner you can accept?"

Miss Crawford could not be persuaded to give a definite assent to this proposal; she tried to treat the matter of her going to the party or staying away as no consequence, and laughingly protested that she would send the harp alone, which would answer all purposes as far as Lady Catherine was concerned. The utmost she could be induced to say was: "I should be very glad to give you the pleasure"; and with this Elizabeth was obliged to be content. Nevertheless, Elizabeth was so extremely desirous of securing Miss Crawford's presence, partly in the hope that Lady Catherine might be more kindly disposed to her on a closer acquaintance, and partly in order that Colonel Fitzwilliam might be enabled to enjoy her company without fear of interruption from the Elliots, that on leaving Mrs. Grant's house she hastened at once to Pulteney Street, trusting to find Lady Catherine alone and disposed to listen to her errand. In both these objects she was successful; for though the inevitable Miss Steele was in the house, she was upstairs with Miss de Bourgh, and Lady Catherine having just had a disappointment in hearing that some old friends found themselves obliged to quit Bath before her reception, was in a mood to demand Elizabeth's sympathy and to discuss matters connected with entertainment.

"It really is exceedingly trying," she said. "I am not prepared for these annoyances. At my age my friends should take care to spare me them. I am convinced that Lady Alicia Markham's son is not so ill but that he could have done without his mother for another two days."

Elizabeth condoled warmly, and listened to a description of the arrangements for the evening, in which, it appeared, Mrs. Ferrars's help had been invaluable; and when Lady Catherine named the musicians she expected, Elizabeth took advantage of the opening thus afforded her, by suggesting that a more formal invitation should be sent to Miss Crawford, to ensure her presence.

Lady Catherine stared, and in a tone of offended surprise reminded her of the first meeting with Miss Crawford. "You were present, I recollect, Elizabeth, when she was introduced to me, and I gave her the opportunity of bringing her instrument on this occasion."

"Yes, I remember its being mentioned," said Elizabeth, "but I hardly think she took it as an invitation. I fancied you meant to follow it up by calling on her and her sister."

"I may have had some thoughts of doing so," returned Lady Catherine haughtily; "but in the end I decided that I did not choose it; I cannot take up with all the new young ladies who come to Bath, and least of all those who are talked of as much as she is. She is the greatest flirt imaginable: that foolish old beau, Sir Walter Elliot, and half the men of Bath are running after her."

"No, indeed, dear madam; you have been misinformed, and I must defend her," said Elizabeth with more earnestness. "She is not in the least a flirt, and though men may run after her, they receive no encouragement to do so. But if you do not like her, there is no more to be said. Now, whom could you get in her place? I do not know any other lady, but there is a man at the theatre who is said to play the harp tolerably well."

Lady Catherine was silent for a moment with anger; then she broke out, as Elizabeth had expected: "There is no one I can get in her place. The impudent girl! She should be glad to come to a house like this. Probably she is intending to come all the time, if the truth were known; how can you tell she is not?"

"Only that when I last saw her she distinctly said that she and her sister had no reason to think themselves expected."

"No reason! when with my own mouth I said, 'I should like you to come and play at my house on the sixteenth.' Nothing could be clearer. As to her sister, if that is the very ordinary-looking person whom I believe you presented to me one morning, no, I do not recollect saying anything to her; but it is not she who plays the harp."

"She is a very agreeable and cultured woman, widow of a Canon of Westminster, and Miss Crawford goes nowhere without her."

"Well, it is all extremely annoying, and I do not know when I have been so upset. You should have told her, Elizabeth, told her plainly that she was to come. Really, the airs these people give themselves! Here is a card; I will write their names and send it round this afternoon, and I hope after that we shall have no more nonsense."

This by no means satisfied Elizabeth, and the next ten minutes were spent by her in using every means of persuasion she could think of to induce her aunt to repair all previous omissions by going to visit Mrs. Grant and conveying her invitation in person. Lady Catherine at first resisted the proposal indignantly, and would have continued to do so but for her knowledge that Miss Crawford's music was to have been an attractive part of the evening's entertainment, and an uncomfortable recollection of having told many of her friends that they would hear a person scarcely known, in whom she had discovered some remarkable talent.

This she did not betray to her niece, and when the latter left the house it was without having secured a definite promise, but Elizabeth felt she had said as much as she safely could, and she walked home, pondering on what had passed, and wondering uneasily whether what she had done had been a real kindness to Mary. This question was also raised by her husband, to whom she had related the affair on her return. He shook his head over it, and gave it as his opinion that as his aunt had been rude to Miss Crawford, and the latter was fully conscious of it, they would not meet in a spirit conducive to future good feeling.

"But it would have been worse," said Elizabeth, "if Aunt Catherine had counted on Miss Crawford's coming and she had not appeared. There would have been no healing the breach then."

"Would it have greatly signified if there had been a breach?" inquired Darcy. "But never mind, my dear, you have done your best, and it will be interesting to see the result of Aunt Catherine's efforts at conciliation—the first time she has ever appeared in such a role, I should think."

Strangely enough, Lady Catherine's efforts were successful enough, although no one ever knew precisely how she accomplished it. But it was partly accounted for by the fact that she saw Mrs. Grant alone, Miss Crawford being out. She had taken only her daughter with her, not choosing that Miss Steele should be a witness of an interview which was undoubtedly galling to her pride; and Mrs. Grant, realizing but a small part of the great lady's insolence towards her sister, and the nature of Mary's resentment of it, only perceived that Lady Catherine was anxious to have them at the party, and was willing to acknowledge any remissness in her manner of issuing the invitation. Lady Catherine was so relieved at not having to apologize directly to the object of her dislike, that she became, in the course of the interview, more and more condescendingly gracious to Mrs. Grant, whom she found, as she afterwards remarked to her daughter, an amiable, unpretentious person; and actually admitted that she ought to have called sooner, but the pressure of engagements in Bath at this period of the season was so great. The call was strictly limited to a quarter of an hour, and Mrs. Grant described it all to Mary when she came in with much spirit and humour.

Mary, on hearing that her sister had actually accepted, was inclined to be defiant, and to declare that she would have a headache and not go; of course it was kind Mrs. Darcy's doing, but she did not care to accept favours thrown at her at the eleventh hour like this, by ill-tempered old ladies who only wanted to make use of her. Mrs. Grant, whose pride in, and love of, her sister were unbounded, and who delighted in seeing her shine by means of her beauty and talents, had great difficulty in persuading her; in fact, when they met the Darcy party at the Lower Rooms the following morning, Mary still declared that her coming was so doubtful that it was not worth while to give Mrs. Darcy the trouble of learning the duet.

Elizabeth, however, felt fairly confident of seeing her there, and Colonel Fitzwilliam confirmed this by telling Elizabeth with a cheerful glance that "she had not actually said she would not go." Their hopes were realized by the arrival of the two sisters, Mary looking lovely and sparkling in white with a few fine jewels, the gifts of her devoted brother. Elizabeth, who had arrived some time earlier, happened to be near her aunt, and so was able to satisfy herself that their reception by their hostess was properly courteous, if not cordial. Lady Catherine even took the trouble to mention the name of her daughter, who stood close by, and Miss de Bourgh actually exerted herself so far as to make two separate curtsies, though the remark that it was a cold evening was taken out of her mouth by Anne Steele, who was standing next to her, and evidently considered herself included in the introduction.

Elizabeth saw with delight that Colonel Fitzwilliam was impatiently awaiting his turn after these formalities should be over, and that he immediately placed himself by Miss Crawford's side. They seemed to have much to say to one another; and Elizabeth, after greeting the two ladies, and giving Mary an expressive glance of gratitude which conveyed much more than her quiet remark: "It was kind of you to come," began to converse with Mrs. Grant until music should be demanded of Mary.

Elizabeth was very well amused in watching the arrival of the guests, and in noticing which of them were under the special patronage of the Robert Ferrars, who appeared to have brought into Lady Catherine's circle a number of individuals of about the same standing in the world of fashion as themselves. Robert Ferrars was in his element, as though he found entertaining in another person's house a much more satisfactory matter than when the trouble and expense had to be incurred by himself, besides having the advantage of being able to introduce his friends to an earl's daughter as their hostess. When all who were expected had arrived, he, in company with a showy-looking young man, dressed in the extreme of fashion, began strolling about the rooms in search of someone upon whom they could make an impression. Elizabeth thought that she and her husband might at least have escaped Mr. Ferrars's civilities; and great was her surprise when the young men paused before her, and Mr. Ferrars begged leave to introduce his friend Mr. Yates, who had newly come from London. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he thought, might be interested to meet Mr. Yates, in view of their intended journey, as Mr. Yates would be able to give them all information as to the state of the roads.

Mrs. Darcy had scarcely made her curtsey and was about to frame some suitable reply, when the glance of the newcomer happened to fall on Mrs. Grant, who was seated on a low chair close by. He immediately pronounced her name in tones of questioning surprise, and when she looked up, exclaimed: "Yes, I was sure it was. Upon my word, madam, I take some credit to myself, considering the length of time it is since we met. I hope I am so fortunate as to recall myself to your remembrance?"

"You are very good, sir," replied Mrs. Grant, with a perceptible effort. Her countenance expressed no great pleasure at the encounter. "Of course, I recall you perfectly. Mrs. Yates, I trust, is quite well."

"Very well, I thank you, madam; and I hope the same may be said of your fair sister, Miss Crawford—but perhaps she is no longer Miss Crawford?"

"Don't be under any alarm, Yates," struck in Robert Ferrars; "she is still Miss Crawford, and you can judge for yourself how well she is, for you will see and hear her to-night."

This speech was so offensive to Mrs. Grant that she cut short Mr. Yates's compliments, and remarking, "Yes, I am glad to say my sister is still with me," rose and prepared to move away. Elizabeth immediately suggested that they should go in search of some tea, and the dismayed Mr. Yates saw Mrs. Darcy departing before he had uttered a single word about London, or about the distinguished people he had dined with the night before last.

"Well, I'm very sorry, Ferrars," he replied to his friend's reproaches; "I'm sure I didn't want to talk to Mrs. Grant at all, but seeing her was the greatest surprise; I never dreamt of meeting her here, and, of course, I had to speak a civil word, or she would have thought it so strange."

"My dear fellow," retorted Ferrars, "what on earth did that matter? I should have thought you would understand that Mrs. Darcy is the person to make yourself agreeable to here, not Mrs. Grant, who is only a clergyman's widow. I suppose, as you knew her before, that she lived down at that precious dull place in the country, where you took your wife from."

"Yes, she did," answered Mr. Yates; "but there's a good deal more in it than that—not through her. Do you mean to say that sister of hers is really here, going about in Bath?"

"Of course she goes about; why shouldn't she?" demanded Ferrars. "Is there anything against it? The women are all down on her, I know—you should hear my wife and sister—but only because she's such a devilish pretty girl and proud; she won't have any friends but the Darcys."

"But do you actually not know? Have you never heard all about her and her brother? Between the two of them they managed to lead my wife's family a pretty dance. Neither of them can ever show their faces in Mansfield again, so it was a lucky thing the Grants moved when they did. To think of meeting Miss Crawford again! I shall tell her that Edmund Bertram is uncommonly well and prosperous, and Tom Bertram isn't married yet; and you see how she looks when I do it."

This amiable intention was frustrated, as Elizabeth, who could readily see that Mrs. Grant was disturbed by what had happened, did not need even the hint dropped by her that she hoped Mary would not meet Mr. Yates, as he was connected with the Bertrams, and all that part of her life that it was painful to her to remember, in order to make her strive in every way to protect Mary from any disagreeableness. They went to the tea-room, whither Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mary had, fortunately, preceded them some time before Mr. Yates's appearance. They were there joined by Darcy, and all five formed a happily conversing group. Mrs. Grant whispered a word to her sister, whose countenance changed for a moment; but she shook off the cloud and gave herself up to the delight of the present. Once Elizabeth received a message from her aunt requesting her to "make Miss Crawford play now," and she escorted her friend back to the music-room and did not leave her after the performance until she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam safely stationed beside her. No command to play a second time followed, rather to Elizabeth's surprise, but having a number of friends to take leave of, she could not give it much thought before her own departure, which her husband had insisted should be an early one, in view of the journey on the following day.

Mr. Yates did not, in fact, come near any of this little party during the rest of the evening, but might have been observed conversing earnestly in a quiet part of the room with Lucy Ferrars and her sister, who, judging by their rapt attention and animated countenances, found what Mr. Yates had to say deeply interesting; so much so, in fact, that when his narration was finished the two young women, having faithfully promised to repeat no word of what he had told them, took the first opportunity of slipping away unostentatiously in the direction of their hostess; and having drawn her aside, with a hint of having something very important to communicate, poured into her ears that whole story just heard, a story which, as may be imagined, lost nothing in their version of it. Lady Catherine was so exceedingly angry that her instantly expressed desire was to have both Mr. Yates and Miss Crawford—the latter being, of course, the heroine of his tale—brought before her, with some confused idea in her mind of proving to the world at large that her dislike of Mary Crawford had all the time been well founded; but Lucy's extreme terror of the consequences of this act and her part in it, while Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were there to protect their friend, caused her to implore Lady Catherine to suspend pronouncing judgment till the following day. There would still be plenty of opportunities of meeting Miss Crawford, Lucy assured her patroness. Lady Catherine would make no promises. Only the necessity of attending to her other guests, she replied, delayed her from informing Miss Crawford of her strong disapproval. She would not appear to condone such conduct as Miss Crawford's had been one moment longer than she could help. Lucy and her sister thought it safest to mingle inconspicuously with the crowd until the storm should break over some other heads.

Meantime, Elizabeth and her husband had made their farewells to most of their friends, and were exchanging a few last words with Mrs. Grant and Mary. The latter looked unusually lovely, and an expression of quiet happiness illumined her countenance. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not allow himself yet to adopt the easy manner of an intimate friend, but the earnestness of his glance towards Mary, the eagerness with which he obeyed her slightest request, betrayed the state of his feelings, and his air and manner were those of a man whose thoughts are wholly pleasant.

"I am so sorry that this is really good-bye," Elizabeth was saying, "but I am consoled by thinking it is only for a little while. You will keep your promise and come to us this summer, will you not?" Mary Crawford and her sister repeated a cordial acceptance, and the former added: "You must tell us exactly how to come, Mrs. Darcy, you must explain all the intricacies of travelling between Brighton and Derbyshire, or we shall undoubtedly be lost on the road."

"Brighton! Shall you come from there?" and it was explained that the ladies generally spent the months of June and July at some seaside place, and Brighton had been thought of for this year. "Or we may be in London with my brother," continued Mary, "but wherever we are, if you remember to ask us, we shall come."

The usual protestations of the impossibility of forgetting followed, and very warm handshakes were exchanged; then Elizabeth, turning to her cousin, said: "Are you coming home now, Robert? It will be most unfriendly of you not to, for how else shall we see you again, since you positively decline to go with us to-morrow?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam hesitated, and said he had not thought of going home just yet; but Mary interrupted him by saying: "Pray don't let us keep you, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I am sure our coach will be there now, if you would kindly inquire. Colonel Fitzwilliam was so kind as to wish to put us into our coach," she added to Elizabeth, "but it would not be worth while, just for that, to prevent him from driving home with you and Mr. Darcy."

"I will go and see, certainly," said the Colonel, moving off; "but don't wait for me, Elizabeth. I would just as soon walk back, and I will see you and Darcy at breakfast."

Darcy drew his wife's arm within his, and they made their way to Lady Catherine, who was sitting very upright in an armchair and wearing her most stern and forbidding expression. To Elizabeth's civilly-worded thanks for all the kindness and pleasure which their aunt had bestowed on her relatives during their stay, she made no reply; but when Elizabeth referred to their departure on the morrow, she started, placed her hand coldly within her niece's for a moment, and said: "Yes, you are going, I recollect. You did not consult me in the matter, but still, perhaps this year it is as well you are not staying longer."

Elizabeth was too well accustomed to her aunt's insolent speeches to seek to account for them, and turned away; while Darcy, remarking, "Yes, we have stayed as long as we care to for this year," also shook hands with his aunt, cutting her rather short in the midst of a statement that she could send no message to Georgiana, and without further delay escorted his wife downstairs.

Mary Crawford watched them from the room, and then said to Mrs. Grant: "Let us go and say good-night also, Frances. We may as well be ready—and there will be the harp to be carried down."

"Very well, my dear," returned her sister. "We shall have to take our turn, for everyone else seems to be preparing to leave at once."

They approached Lady Catherine, and when after a few minutes they reached her side, to their surprise she addressed them in a more stiff and stately manner than usual. "Ah! Miss Crawford! I was awaiting you. Will you kindly come this way?" And she preceded them towards a small library, where card-tables had been placed, but which was now deserted.

Mary was not the least apprehensive of harm, and even whispered mischievously to her sister: "Perhaps she is going to present me with a fee!" so that her astonishment was unbounded when Lady Catherine, having closed the door, turned to her and exclaimed in a voice shrill with anger, which she did not attempt to control: "As this is probably the last time we shall meet, Miss Crawford, you will allow me to inform you that I have been entirely under a misapprehension in inviting you to my house, and that I very much regret having done so." The two sisters gazed at her, both silent from surprise, and Lady Catherine made haste to continue: "I see you are on the point of asking me what reason I have for coming to this conclusion. I do not care to enter into particulars; it must be sufficient for you that facts have come to my knowledge—facts which, if you search your memory, will no doubt—"

Mary had by now found words, and she broke into Lady Catherine's speech in a voice that distress and wounded dignity caused to tremble: "I was not on the point of asking you why you propose to forbid me your house. In that matter my decision had anticipated your wishes. But I have a right to ask the meaning of this insult; even your ladyship will hardly refuse to inform me of what and by whom I am accused."

Lady Catherine drew herself up still further, and said: "I repeat that I do not care to enter into particulars. I have no wish to say anything that may be injurious to you in your future life. The facts which have come to my knowledge are facts which you must be well aware are damaging to yourself and any member of your family—only in a lesser degree to you, Mrs. Grant. I shall repeat them to no one. I only wish you to understand our acquaintance is henceforth at an end."

Mary scarcely heard the last words; she had turned to her sister, who seemed quite overwhelmed and could only say, almost indistinguishably: "That dreadful Mr. Yates! I feared—I feared—"

"Frances, dear Frances, do not give way, I implore you. Do not let her make you unhappy. What does it matter about Mr. Yates? The truth cannot harm either of us." Then, confronting Lady Catherine once more, with head proudly thrown back, she demanded: "Now, madam, in justice to my sister, if not to me, will you kindly state what Mr. Yates has told you?"

Lady Catherine, who had expected a shamefaced attitude, was unprepared for this counter-attack, and replied after some hesitation: "It is evident that you know Mr. Yates has something to tell."

"Certainly, we know exactly what Mr. Yates knows," retorted Mary with spirit, "but what he may have told your ladyship is quite another matter. Will you tell us, or are you disposed to wait for the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy? A message from us would cause them to postpone their journey to-morrow."

The taunt was a well-judged one; Lady Catherine felt its truth, and anxious not to involve herself more deeply, she exclaimed: "Mr. Yates has not spoken on the subject to me; it is sufficient for me that he has told others, upon whom I can rely, the whole story of your brother's disgraced connection with that married woman, with whose dishonoured name I will not sully my lips—is that the true, or is it not? You say the truth can do you no harm."

"The fact is true," replied Mary, who had grown very white.

"Oh, Mary, Mary!" exclaimed Mrs. Grant, "let us come away now that we know the worst."

"No," answered Mary, who was retaining her calmness by a great effort, "we will not deprive Lady Catherine of the pleasure of telling all she has heard."

"And you express no contrition, you shameless, you bad-hearted girl?" broke out Lady Catherine, giving rein to her anger. "You think it can do you no harm to have all known of that shocking affair, which alone should make you shun the society of respectable persons, but beyond and above all that, there are your own intrigues with the two brothers of that wretched woman, one of whom you enticed away from the girl to whom he was attached, and your own flirtations here, which I will not enter into, but which I have watched taking place under my very eyes—"

"That will do, I think," said Mary, raising her hand. "You can have nothing further to say. You have insulted us in every possible manner. I only hope, Lady Catherine, that by this outrage you will consider yourself to have taken ample revenge."