Chapter 18

THE first week of their return was soon gone.  The second
began.  It was the last of the regiment's stay in Meryton, and
all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping
apace.  The dejection was almost universal.  The elder Miss
Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and
pursue the usual course of their employments.  Very frequently
were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia,
whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.
"Good Heaven!  What is to become of us!  What are we to
do!" would they often exclaim in the bitterness of woe.  "How
can you be smiling so, Lizzy?"
Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five
and twenty years ago.
"I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when
Colonel Millar's regiment went away.  I thought I should have
broke my heart."
"I am sure I shall break mine," said Lydia.
"If one could but go to Brighton!" observed Mrs. Bennet.
"Oh, yes! -- if one could but go to Brighton!  But papa is so
disagreeable."
"A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever."
"And my aunt Philips is sure it would do me a great deal of
good," added Kitty.
Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually
through Longbourn-house.  Elizabeth tried to be diverted by
them; but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame.  She felt
anew the justice of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never oad she
before been so much disposed to pardon his interference in
the views of his friend.
But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared
away; for she received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the
wife of the Colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to
Brighton.  This invaluable friend was a very young woman,
and very lately married.  A resemblance in good humour and
good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other,
and out of their three months' acquaintance they had been
intimate two.
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of
Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification 
of Kitty, are scarcely to be described.  Wholly inattentive
to her sister's feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless
ecstacy, calling for everyone's congratulations, and laughing
and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless
Kitty continued in the parlour repining at her fate in terms as
unreasonable as her accent was peevish.
"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well
as Lydia," said she, "though I am not her particular friend.
I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more
too, for I am two years older."
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and 
Jane to make her resigned.  As for Elizabeth herself, this
invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as
in her mother and Lydia, that she considered it as the death-
warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and
detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she
could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go,
She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia's
general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from
the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the
probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a
companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be
greater than at home.  He heard her attentively, and then said,
"Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in
some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do
it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as
under the present circumstances."
"If you were aware," said Elizabeth, "of the very great 
disadvantage to us all, which must arise from the public notice
of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner; nay, which has
already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently
in the affair."
"Already arisen!" repeated Mr. Bennet.  "What, has she
frightened away some of your lovers?  Poor little Lizzy!  But
do not be cast down.  Such squeamish youths as cannot bear
to be connected with a little absurdity, are not worth a regret.
Come, let me see the list of the pitiful fellows who have been
kept aloof by Lydia's folly."
"Indeed you are mistaken.  I have no such injuries to resent,
It is not of peculiar, but of general evils, which I am now
complaining.  Our importance, our respectability in the world
must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain 
of all restraint which mark Lydia's character.  Excuse me
 -- for I must speak plainly.  If you, my dear father, will not
take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and of
teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the
business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of
amendment.  Her character will be fixed, and she will, at
sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself
and her family ridiculous.  A flirt too, in the worst and meanest
degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond youth and
a tolerable person; and from the ignorance and emptiness of
her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that
universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite.
In this danger Kitty is also comprehended.  She will follow
wherever Lydia leads.  Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled!  Oh!  my dear father, can you suppose it possible
that they will not be censured and despised wherever they
are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in
the disgrace?"
Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject;
and affectionately taking her hand, said in reply,
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love.  Wherever you and
Jane are known, you must be respected and valued; and you
will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of -- or
I may say, three very silly sisters.  We shall have no peace at
Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton.  Let her go then.
Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of
any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object
of prey to any body.  At Brighton she will be of less importance
even as a common flirt than she has been here.  The officers
will find women better worth their notice.  Let us hope, therefore, that her being there may teach her her own insignificance.
At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without
authorizing us to lock her up for the rest of her life."
With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but
her own opinion continued the same, and she left him
disappointed and sorry.  It was not in her nature, however, to
increase her vexations, by dwelling on them.  She was 
confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over 
unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part 
of her disposition.
Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her
conference with her father, their indignation would hardly
have found expression in their united volubility.  In Lydia's
imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility
of earthly happiness.  She saw with the creative eye of fancy,
the streets of that gay bathing place covered with officers,
She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores
of them at present unknown.  She saw all the glories of the
camp; its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of
lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with
scarlet; and to complete the view, she saw herself seated
beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at
once.
Had she known that her sister sought to tear her from such
prospects and such realities as these, what would have been
her sensations?  They could have been understood only by
her mother, who might have felt nearly the same.  Lydia's
going to Brighton was all that consoled her for the melancholy
conviction of her husband's never tending to go there
himself.
But they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and
their raptures continued with little intermission to the very
day of Lydia's leaving home.
Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time.
Having been frequently in company with him since her
return, agitation was pretty well over; the agitations of former
partiality entirely so.  She had even learnt to detect, in the
very gentleness which had first delighted her, an affectation
and a sameness to disgust and weary.  In his present behaviour
to herself, moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure,
for the inclination he soon testified of renewing those attentions which had marked the early part of their acquaintance,
could only serve, after what had since passed, to provoke her.
She lost all concern for him in finding herself thus selected
as the object of such idle and frivolous gallantry; and while
she steadily repressed it, could not but feel the reproof contained 
in his believing, that however long, and for whatever
cause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity would be
gratified and her preference secured at any time by their
renewal.
On the very last day of the regiment's remaining in Meryton,
he dined with others of the officers at Longbourn; and so little
was Elizabeth disposed to part from him in good humour, that
on his making some enquiry as to the manner in which her
time had passed at Hunsford, she mentioned Colonel 
Fitzwilliam's and Mr. Darcy's having both spent three weeks at
Rosings, and asked him if he were acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a
moment's recollection and a returning smile, replied, that he
had formerly seen him often; and after observing that he was
a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him.
Her answer was warmly in his favour.  With an air of indifference 
he soon afterwards added, "How long did you say that he
was at Rosings?"
"Nearly three weeks."
"And you saw him frequently?"
"Yes, almost every day."
"His manners are very different from his cousin's."
"Yes, very different.  But I think Mr. Darcy improves on
acquaintance."
"Indeed!" cried Wickham with a look which did not escape
her.  "And pray may I ask?" but checking himself, he added in
a gayer tone, "Is it in address that he improves?  Has he deigned
to add ought of civility to his ordinary style?  for I dare not
hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone, "that
he is improved in essentials."
"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth.  "In essentials, I believe, he is very
much what he ever was."
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing
whether to rejopice over her words, or to distrust their meaning.  There was a something in her countenance which made
him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while
she added,
"When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not
mean that either his mind or manners were in a state of
improvement, but that from knowing him better, his disposition 
was better understood."
Wickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion
and agitated look; for a few minutes he was silent; till, shaking
off his embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the
gentlest of accents,
"You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy,
will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he
is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right.
His pride, in that direction, may be of service, if not to himself, 
to many others, for it must deter him from such foul misconduct 
as I have suffered by.  I only fear that the sort of
cautiousness, to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is
merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good
opinion and judgment he stands much in awe.  His fear of her,
has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a
good dealis to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match
with Miss De Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much
at heart."
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered
only by a slight inclination of the head.  She saw that he wanted
to engage her on the old subject of his grievences, and she was
in no humour to indulge him.  The rest of the evening passed
with the appearance, on his side, of usual cheerfulness, but
parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual
desire of never meeting again.
When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. 
Forster to Meryton, from whence they were to set out early
the next morning.  The separation between her and her family
was rather noisy than pathetic.  Kitty was the only one who
shed tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy.  Mrs. 
Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her
daughter, and impressive in her injunctions that she would
not miss the opportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible; advice, which there was every reason to believe would
be attended to; and in the clamorous happiness of Lydia herself 
in bidding farewell, the more gentle adieus of her sisters
were uttered without being heard.