Page 164 of A Question of Character

“Jane, my love, Mr. Bingley is come again. Lizzy, do not sit there looking astonished. A gentleman may call more than once where he is well received. Indeed, he ought to do so, if he has any sense.”

“I am persuaded Mr. Bingley has sense enough to call where Jane is,” Elizabeth said.

Jane blushed fully this time.

Mrs. Bennet kissed her cheek, declared her the loveliest creature in Hertfordshire, and hurried away to ensure tea was made with sufficient consequence.

Mr. Bingley was received with universal goodwill, though not without scrutiny. Elizabeth, having discovered her neglect, made a study of him for the next quarter hour and found very little to disapprove. He spoke to everyone, laughed with Lydia, praised Mary’s new music with a sincerity that made Mary sit straighter, and addressed Jane with an attention so open it seemed innocent of strategy.

When he leaned toward Jane to ask whether she would walk if the weather held, Jane’s face answered before her words did.

Elizabeth felt affection and remorse together.

Her own courtship had filled too much of her mind. Not because it was happier than Jane’s, but because happiness in it had become entangled with a question she could not set aside.

Mr. Darcy did not come with Mr. Bingley that morning.

Elizabeth told herself she was glad of it.

She did not believe herself.

The day might have passed pleasantly had Mr. Wickham not arrived shortly after Mr. Bingley departed.

He was shown in by Hill, carrying a folded paper in one hand and a look upon his face Elizabeth had never seen before. Lydia, who had been lively enough after breakfast, rose.

“Mr. Wickham?”

He bowed to Mrs. Bennet, then to the room, but the motion lacked his usual ease. “Forgive me. I had not meant to call at such an hour, but Mr. Philips is with a client, and I thought... that is, I wished to ask Mr. Bennet’s advice, if he is at leisure.”

Mrs. Bennet’s delight in any gentleman seeking her husband’s advice warred with alarm. “Good heavens. Has something happened?”

“Nothing dangerous, ma’am.”

“That is not the same as nothing.”

“No,” he admitted.

Elizabeth crossed to a chair near Lydia, aware that her sister had gone pale.

“My father is in his library,” she said. “Shall I send for him?”

“In a moment, if you please.” Wickham unfolded the paper and then seemed to dislike the sight of it. “Perhaps I ought not have come at all.”

“You ought,” Lydia said with immediate conviction. “If something has troubled you, then you ought.”

Wickham’s eyes moved to her, and some of the strain in his face eased. “You are very decided.”

“I am often right.”

“Lydia,” Kitty murmured, half scandalized and half admiring.

Elizabeth held out her hand. “May I?”

Wickham hesitated, then gave her the paper.

It was a bill, written in an impatient hand, demanding payment for a sum large enough to make Lydia gasp when Elizabeth read it aloud.

“Forty-three pounds?” Mrs. Bennet cried. “For what?”