Page 88 of A Question of Character

Elizabeth, walking behind with Kitty, could not help laughing. “You see, Mr. Wickham, Lydia’s interruptions sometimes serve the public good.”

“Then I must be grateful for them in moderation.”

“Moderation is a dreadful word,” Lydia said. “It makes everything sound dreadfully dull.”

“Broth may be very nourishing,” Mary would have said, had Mary been present. Elizabeth heard the sentence so clearly in her mind that she nearly answered it aloud.

Kitty had filled one hand with wildflowers and was now attempting to arrange them while walking, with uneven success. “Mr. Wickham, do you suppose Mr. Philips will permit you to leave the office early for the assembly next week?”

“I have not asked him.”

“You must. Everyone is going.”

“Is everyone to include all of Meryton or those persons Miss Lydia approves?”

“Only those I approve,” Lydia answered. “That is still nearly everyone, provided they do not dance badly.”

“And if they do?”

“Then they may stand by the wall and improve themselves by watching.”

Mr. Wickham gave a theatrical sigh. “A severe system.”

“Lizzy is severe. I am generous.”

“You are very generous with opinions,” Elizabeth said.

Lydia tossed her head. “My opinions are useful.”

“Of course.”

“They are. Mr. Wickham says I must learn to give them more slowly, so people have time to be grateful.”

That, Elizabeth suspected, was not quite what Mr. Wickham had said, but he did not contradict her. He merely adjusted his pace when the road grew uneven and guided Lydia around a rut left by a cart. The action was unremarkable. A gentleman ought to assist a lady over rough ground. Still, the manner of it pleased Elizabeth. He did not make a display of the service, and Lydia, after one quick smile, accepted without turning it into an occasion for flirtation.

By the time they arrived back at Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet had placed herself at the drawing room window and was watching for them with the intensity of a commander expecting troops.

“There you are!” she cried before they had properly entered. “I was beginning to think you had all gone as far as Oakham Mount.”

“To the lower bend, Mama,” Elizabeth said, removing her gloves.

“The lower bend is far enough when the air is damp.” Mrs. Bennet fussed over them as they gave their things to the waiting maid.

“The air is not damp,” Lydia protested.

“It might have become so. Mr. Wickham, you must sit down. You have been walking with three girls, and I am certain that is more fatiguing than any law book.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, it has improved my comprehension of several matters.”

Mrs. Bennet brightened. “There, Lydia, you see? Your conversation is improving.”

Mr. Bennet, from behind his newspaper, murmured, “An ambitious claim.”

Lydia laughed and sat near Mr. Wickham, though not so near that anyone could accuse her of impropriety. Elizabeth noticed the restraint and then wished she had not, for noticing improvement in Lydia made her feel both pleased and unexpectedly old.

Mr. Wickham remained to supper with Mr. Philips, and the evening passed in a fashion so domestic that Elizabeth found herself watching it from a small distance in her mind. Mr. Bennet asked Mr. Wickham several questions concerning a local dispute over a fence line. Mr. Wickham answered plainly, admitted when he was not certain, and said he would consult the relevant book before venturing too far into advice. That answer won Mr. Bennet’s approval more surely than a more confident opinion would have done.

After supper, Mary played, Kitty sang half a song and forgot the second verse, and Lydia, instead of demanding that everyone dance, sat beside Mr. Wickham while he showed her how to fold a sheet properly for legal correspondence.