Meryton was already alive with light and movement when they arrived. The assembly rooms, though possessing none of the grandeur of Rosings and little of the polish to which Darcy and Bingley might be accustomed in town, had that lively consequence which belongs to a large neighbourhood determined to be pleased with itself. Lamps glowed against the windows, carriages drew up in irregular succession, servants hurried between doorways, and voices rose in cheerful confusionas families met, greeted, compared intelligence, admired gowns, and inquired with unconvincing carelessness whether the gentlemen from Netherfield had yet appeared.
Mrs. Bennet entered in triumph. She had the satisfaction, almost immediately, of observing that the room was very full, that several mothers looked anxious, that Sir William Lucas advanced with every appearance of ceremonious pleasure, and that Lady Lucas, though perfectly civil, had already seen Jane’s gown and understood its superior elegance. Such circumstances, though perhaps trifling in another woman’s estimation, were to Mrs. Bennet matters of the highest social importance; and she accepted Sir William’s compliments upon her daughters with an air which suggested that their beauty was at once a private blessing and a public duty.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” Sir William said, bowing with all the graceful redundancy of a man who had never recovered from having once been presented at court, “this is indeed an evening of uncommon promise. Meryton has seldom assembled under more agreeable auspices, and I flatter myself we shall acquit ourselves with a hospitality worthy of our new neighbours.”
“I am sure we shall, Sir William,” Mrs. Bennet replied, with a glance already travelling toward the entrance. “Mr. Bingley is a charming young gentleman, and I have no doubt he will be delighted with the neighbourhood, provided he is not frightened away by too much attention.”
“Attention, my dear madam,” Sir William replied, “is the tribute due to merit, fortune, and sociability. When united, they must expect to be honoured.”
Mr. Bennet, who had come up beside them, observed gravely, “Then Mr. Bingley is to be pitied, for Hertfordshire is preparingto honour him into exhaustion before he has resided among us a fortnight.”
Sir William laughed as if the remark had been entirely benevolent; Mrs. Bennet, who feared her husband might next say something true enough to be inconvenient, hastily directed Jane and Elizabeth toward a group of acquaintances. Jane was soon surrounded by civil inquiries and gentle congratulations upon Netherfield’s being occupied at last, while Elizabeth received the less gentle but far more searching attention of those who had heard, in fragments, of her visit to Kent, her acquaintance with Lady Catherine, and the mysterious Mr. Darcy whose name had lately begun to circulate with increasing interest through the neighbourhood.
It was not long before Mr. Bingley arrived. His entrance produced precisely the effect which Mrs. Bennet had anticipated and desired; for he came forward with all the warmth of a man already predisposed to admire everything before him, greeted Mr. Bennet with real gratitude, Mrs. Bennet with cheerful respect, and Jane with an animation which no one in the room, except perhaps Jane herself, could mistake for mere civility. His sisters were not with him; and though Mrs. Bennet had never yet enjoyed the pleasure of their acquaintance, she nevertheless received their absence with a private satisfaction which she would not for the world have expressed aloud. Female relations connected to a wealthy bachelor were often inclined to exercise an influence both vigilant and inconveniently curious; and Mrs. Bennet, who preferred Mr. Bingley entirely unaccompanied by stronger guidance than his own good humour, considered the circumstance decidedly favourable, though every feature of her countenance betrayed the triumph she endeavoured unsuccessfully to conceal.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley said, approaching Jane with an openness that would have rendered art unnecessary even had he possessed any, “I feared we might arrive too late for the first dance, and I should have considered it a very poor beginning to my acquaintance with Meryton had I been so unfortunate.”
“You are in very good time, Mr. Bingley,” Jane replied, her colour rising gently beneath his attention. “The room is only just assembling, though I believe everyone has been expecting Netherfield with uncommon interest.”
“Then I am indebted to Netherfield for more consequence than I can personally deserve,” he returned, smiling. “Yet if it has brought me here in time to claim the first two dances, I shall forgive it all the trouble it has already given me.”
Jane accepted with her usual modest sweetness; but the exchange, brief as it was, travelled through the room with all the silent rapidity of important news. Mrs. Bennet, who had watched without blinking, seized Elizabeth’s hand with such force that her daughter was compelled to turn toward her.
“There, Lizzy,” she whispered, though in a tone which might have informed half the room had the music not begun at that moment. “Did you ever see anything so marked? The first two dances! I always said he was the most charming young man.”
“You said so after he had spoken six sentences, Mama,” Elizabeth replied softly, “which proves only that your judgement is either very quick or very fortunate.”
“It is both,” Mrs. Bennet said, with perfect conviction; and had she been able to enjoy her triumph without interruption, her felicity might have been complete. But the door opened again, and Elizabeth, though she had told herself she would not looktoward it with any particular interest, found that her eyes had already betrayed her before reason could recall them.
Mr. Darcy entered quietly, without the air of a man seeking observation, and yet the room seemed, to Elizabeth’s consciousness at least, to alter upon his appearance. His dress was correct, his manner composed, and his countenance bore no trace of haste from travel; but there was in the first direction of his eyes, and in the almost immediate gravity with which they found hers, an assurance more meaningful than any flourish of greeting could have been. He had returned. He had kept his word. And though he crossed the room first to speak with Mr. Bennet, as propriety and circumstance required, Elizabeth felt with a sudden warmth that his arrival had not been uncertain to him in the way it had been to her.
Mr. Bennet received Mr. Darcy with a civility in which amusement and approval were so quietly mingled that only those who knew him well could have distinguished either. Darcy bowed, spoke briefly of his journey from Derbyshire, and answered Mr. Bennet’s inquiries with that restrained exactness which belonged to him; yet Elizabeth, watching from a little distance, perceived that her father listened with unusual attention. There was between them now, formed through events at Rosings and strengthened by Darcy’s conduct since, a species of mutual understanding which did not require familiarity to make it visible.
“I am happy to find you returned in time, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said, when the first civilities had passed. “Meryton would have borne your absence with fortitude, I daresay; but I am not certain that all its inhabitants would have considered themselves equally obliged to do so.”
Darcy’s gaze moved, not quickly, but inevitably, toward Elizabeth before returning to her father. “I should have regretted being absent this evening, sir.”
“That is handsomely said,” Mr. Bennet replied, “and has the further advantage of being generally intelligible. In public assemblies, a gentleman who speaks plainly saves the neighbourhood a great deal of labour in interpretation.”
Darcy understood him well enough to bow slightly, though the faintest trace of colour touched his face. He then approached Mrs. Bennet, who received him with all the graciousness due to a wealthy gentleman whose intentions she had not yet perfectly settled but whose eligibility admitted of no dispute. Her former suspicion of his pride had been considerably softened by his behaviour at Longbourn, by Mr. Bennet’s evident respect for him, and by the gratifying possibility that if one daughter were to gain Netherfield, another might yet aspire to a still greater establishment.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, curtseying with unusual dignity, “we are very glad to see you returned safely from Derbyshire. I hope all your business at Pemberley was concluded to your satisfaction.”
“I thank you, madam. It was concluded sufficiently to allow my return to Hertfordshire as early as I had hoped.”
“Oh, that is very fortunate indeed,” Mrs. Bennet replied, looking as though fortune had seldom behaved with greater propriety. “For the assembly would have been quite incomplete without all our new neighbours.”
Darcy received this with proper gravity; but Elizabeth, who stood near enough now to hear, found it impossible not to smile. When his eyes met hers, the smile was not lost onhim, and though he made no immediate reply beyond the necessary salutation, something in the softened steadiness of his expression told her that he understood both the words spoken and those withheld.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing with composed civility. “I hope I find you well.”
“Very well, Mr. Darcy. Thank you. Hertfordshire has had the advantage of expecting your return with more confidence than perhaps Derbyshire had in retaining you.”
“I believe Derbyshire is accustomed to my absences,” he replied. “Hertfordshire, I hope, has not yet learned to be indifferent to them.”
The answer, though spoken low enough to remain within the bounds of propriety, was not so low that Elizabeth could mistake its intention. She felt her colour rise, and, to preserve herself from the seriousness into which he seemed increasingly able to draw her, she turned her attention toward the dancers already forming.
“You return to us in time to judge whether Meryton society deserves all Mr. Bingley’s admiration,” she said. “He has already begun the evening with great courage.”
