Lizzy giggled. “Are colons or slashes acceptable?”
Anne arched an eyebrow—acknowledgement of the jest, tempered by the plain assertion that it was the last prevarication or cleverness she would tolerate.
Elizabeth thought for a while, and answered as best she could.
“You would have broken out eventually, since there was nothingactuallywrong with you, but within a year—I would judge the odds around 20-30%--certainly, no better than 50%.”
“I give it 10%.”
“Now, another similar question but withyearsof empirical observation.”
“Go on,” Elizabeth said sceptically.
“Based on years of experience, what are the odds thatyou will talk to your motheranddeliver the resultJane seeks?”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, thought a minute, and sighed resignedly.
“I judge my chances 10-20%. Jane’s 1%. My father’s 0.1%. Uncle Gardiner’s about the same as mine; Aunt Gardiner’s 0, since she has too much sense to even try. Therefore, I believe the best we can hope for is 20%, but I must try.”
Jane’s face fell, but she squared her shoulders.
“We need to improve that, or we will wed from London. In fact, before you returned, we nearly committed to it.”
Anne squeezed Jane’s hand.
“I apologise, Jane. Lizzy failed to mention that she was bringing me to live in a family of ne’er-do-well quitters.”
Jane gasped and fixed Anne with the eldest Miss Bennet’s rough equivalent of a Gorgon stare. Anne remained unmoved.
Elizabeth forestalled an argument. “Are you implying that we are not resilient enough, Anne?”
“No, Elizabeth—there is nowein this equation.Youare too enamoured with your perceived role in the family. Remind me again, you are Mistress of—”
Elizabeth ducked her head and grumbled, “Awkward conversations.”
“So, your duty to your sister leads you to the inevitable conclusion that you must accept a less than 20% chance.”
Elizabeth snapped her head up. “Suggest an alternative.”
“Let me ask a question. You asserted my chances of success with my mother were 10%, though in fact, I believe you estimated only my odds of trying. Let me ask this—what were the chances of your working on my mother successfully, once you had read my diaries and understood the terrain?”
Elizabeth startled; she had not thought the problem through. She sat down and considered furiously for a moment.
“I never thought about it, but there were significant risks to my chosen course. I felt honour bound to help, but not necessarily to do what I did. I could have simply given you my analysis and let you fend for yourself.”
“And why did you not do that?”
“Well… while I did not calculate the odds per se, I judged that just telling you my conclusions would have very little chance of success,butif I presented it, the probability of success was worththe risk. I would say my chances of success when I walked into Rosings were 50-60%.”
Anne jumped from the sofa beside Jane and grabbed Elizabeth’s hands.
“Very well. You are almost there. Think about how that idea can be applied to Jane’s wedding.”
Elizabeth’s mind remained inconveniently blank. She was still deep in thought when Jane started laughing.
“Ah, Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy. You could misplace your nose were it not attached to your face. For the smartest person I know, you can certainly be a flibbertigibbet at times.”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth started to speak, but Jane interrupted. “Look at it this way. Rosings was astatic environmentfor a decade. It was shaken up by introducing a wildcard—something different, no?”
