Chapter 4

WITH no greater events than these in the Longbourn family,
and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton
sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, did January and
February pass away.  March was to take Elizabeth to Hunsford.  
She had not at first thought very seriously of going
thither; but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on the
plan, and she gradually learned to consider it herself with
greater pleasure as well as greater certainty.  Absence had
increased her desire of seeing Charlotte again, and weakened
her disgust of Mr. Collins.  There was novelty in the scheme
and as, with such a mother and such uncompanionable
sisters, home could not be faultless, a little change was not
unwelcome for its own sake.  The journey would moreover
give her a peep at Jane; and, in short, as the time drew near,
she would have been very sorry for any delay, Every thing,
however, went on smoothly, and was finally settled according to Charlotte's first sketch.  She was to accompany Sir
William and his second daughter.  The improvement of spending 
a night in London was added in time, and the plan became
perfect as plan could be.
The only pain was in leaving her father, who would
certainly miss her, and who, when it came to the point, so
little liked her going, that he told her to write to him, and
almost promised to answer her letter.
The farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly; on his side even more.  His present pursuit
could not make him forget that Elizabeth had been the first
to excite and to deserve his attention, the first to listen and
to pity, the first to be admired; and in his manner of bidding
her adieu, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of
what she was to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and
trusting their opinion of her -- their opinion of every body --
would always coincide, there was a solicitude, an interest
which she felt must ever attach her to him with a most sincere
regard; and she parted from him convinced, that whether
married or single, he must always be her model of the amiable
and pleasing.
Her fellow-travellers the next day, were not of a kind to
make her think him less agreeable.  Sir William Lucas, and
his daughter Maria, a good humoured girl, but as empty-
headed as himself, had nothing to say that could be worth
hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight as
the rattle of the chaise.  Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she
had known Sir William's too long.  He could tell her nothing
new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and
his civilities were worn out like his imformation.
It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began
it so early as to be in Gracechurch-street by noon.  As they
drove to Mr. Gardiner's door, Jane was at a drawing-room
window watching their arrival; when they entered the passage
she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth, looking
earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely
as ever.  On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls,
whose eagerness for their cousin's appearance would not
allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness,
as they had not seen her for a twelvemonth, prevented their
coming lower.  All was joy and kindness.  The day passed most
pleasantly away; the morning in bustle and shopping, and
the evening at one of the theatres.
Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt.  Their first subject 
was her sister; and she was more grieved than astonished
to hear, in reply to her minute enquiries, that though Jane
always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of
dejection.  It was reasonable, however, to hope, that they would
not continue long.  Mrs. Gardiner gave her the particulars also
of Miss Bingley's visit in Gracechurch-street, and repeated
conversations occurring at different times between Jane and
herself, which proved that the former had from her heart,
given up the acquaintance.
Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham's desertion, 
and complimented her on bearing it so well.
"But, my dear Elizabeth," she added, "what sort of girl is
Miss King?  I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary."
"Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial
affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive?
Where does discretion end, and avarice begin?  Last Christmas
you were afraid of his marrying me, because it would be
imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get a girl with
only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is
mercenary."
"If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I
shall know what to think."
"She is a very good kind of girl, I believe.  I know no harm
of her."
"But he paid her not the smallest attention, till her grandfather's 
death made her mistress of this fortune."
"No -- why should he?  If it was not allowable for him to
gain my affections, because I had no money, what occasion
could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care
about, and who was equally poor?"
"But there seems indelicacy in directing his attentions
towards her, so soon after this event."
"A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all
those elegant decorums which other people may observe.  If
she does not object to it, why should we?"
"Her not objecting, does not justify him.  It only
shews her being deficient in something herself -- sense or
feeling."
"Well," cried Elizabeth, "have it as you choose.  He shall be
mercenary, and she shall be foolish."
"No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose.  I should be sorry,
you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long
in Derbyshire."
"Oh!  if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men
who live in Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who live
in Hertfordshire are not much better.  I am sick of them all.
Thank Heaven!  I am going to-morrow where I shall find a
man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither
manner nor sense to recommend him.  Stupid men are the only
ones worth knowing, after all."
"Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment."
Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play,
she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany 
her uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they
proposed taking in the summer.
"We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us,"
said Mrs. Gardiner, "but perhaps to the Lakes."
No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth,
and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful.  "My dear, dear aunt," she rapturously cried, "what delight!
what felicity!  You give me fresh life and vigour.  Adieu to
disappointment and spleen.  What are men to rocks and
mountains?  Oh!  what hours of transport we shall spend!  And
when we do return, it shall not be like other travellers, without 
being able to give one accurate idea of any thing.  We will
know where we have gone -- we will recollect what we have
seen.  Lakes, mountains, and rivers, shall not be jumbled
together in our imaginations; nor, when we attempt to describe
any particular scene, will we begin quarrelling about its relative situation.  Let our first effusions be less insupportable than
those of the generality of travellers."