Caroline’s letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first sentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled on another server for the foreseeable future, and concluded with Bingley’s regret at not having had time to pay his respects to his friends before the server transfer went through.
Hope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend to the rest of the letter, she found little, except the professed affection of the writer, that could give her any comfort. Georgiana’s praise occupied the chief of it. Her GearScore and average iLvl were again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their increasing rep with their new guild, and ventured to predict the accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former letter. She wrote also with great pleasure of Mr Bingley’s being an inmate of Mr. Darcy’s raiding team, and mentioned with raptures some plans of the latter with regard to new crafting professions.
Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief of all this, heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern for her guildie, and resentment against all others. To Caroline’s assertion of Mr. Bingley’s being partial to Georgiana she paid no credit. That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever done; and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she could not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness of temper, that want of proper resolution, which now made him the slave of his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice of his own happiness to the caprice of their inclination. Had his own happiness, however, been the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to sport with it in whatever manner he thought best, but Jane’s was involved in it, as she thought he must be sensible himself. It was a subject, in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing. She could think of nothing else; and yet whether Bingley’s regard had really died away, or were suppressed by his friends’ interference; whether he had been aware of Jane’s attachment, or whether it had escaped his observation; whatever were the case, though her opinion of him must be materially affected by the difference, Jane’s situation remained the same, her peace equally wounded.
A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth; but at last, on Mrs. Bennet’s leaving them together, after a longer irritation than usual about Mr. Bingley, she could not help saying:
“Oh, that Mrs. Bennet had more command over herself! She can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before.”
Elizabeth listened to Jane with incredulous solicitude, but said nothing.
“You doubt me,” cried Jane; “indeed, you have no reason. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with. Thank God! I have not that pain. A little time, therefore—I shall certainly try to get the better.”
With a stronger voice she soon added, “I have this comfort immediately, that it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to anyone but myself.”
“My dear Jane!” exclaimed Elizabeth, “you are too good. Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not know what to say to you. I feel as if I had never done you justice, or loved you as you deserve.”
Jane eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back the praise on her Elizabeth’s warm affection.
“Nay,” said Elizabeth, “this is not fair. You wish to think all the world respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want to think you perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not be afraid of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your privilege of universal good-will. You need not. There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense. I have met with two instances lately, one I will not mention; the other is Charlotte’s transfer. It is unaccountable! In every view it is unaccountable!”
“My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will ruin your happiness. You do not make allowance enough for difference of situation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins’s respectability, and Charlotte’s steady, prudent character. Remember that she is one of a PvP guild; that as to ability, it is a most eligible match; and be ready to believe, for everybody’s sake, that she may feel something like regard and esteem for Mr. Collins.”
“To oblige you, I would try to believe almost anything, but no one else could be benefited by such a belief as this; for were I persuaded that Charlotte had any regard for him, I should only think worse of her understanding than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, terribad tank; you know he is, as well as I do; and you must feel, as well as I do, that the healer who volunteers to raid with him cannot have a proper way of thinking. You shall not defend her, though it is Charlotte. You shall not, for the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle and integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me, that selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger security for happiness.”
“I must think your language too strong in speaking of both,” replied Jane; “and I hope you will be convinced of it by seeing them happy together. But enough of this. You alluded to something else. You mentioned two instances. I cannot misunderstand you, but I entreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking that person to blame, and saying your opinion of him is sunk. We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a good tank to be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Healers fancy admiration means more than it does.”
“And tanks take care that they should.”
“If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have no idea of there being so much design in the world as some persons imagine.”
“I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley’s conduct to design,” said Elizabeth; “but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attention to other people’s feelings, and want of resolution, will do the business.”
“And do you impute it to either of those?”
“Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what I think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can.”
“You persist, then, in supposing Caroline’s influence him?”
“Yes, in conjunction with Mr. Darcy.”
“I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can only wish his happiness; and if he is attached to me, no other healer can secure a raid spot with him.”
“Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and consequence; they may wish him to settle with a healer who has all the importance of money, great connections, and pride.”
“Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to choose Georgiana,” replied Jane; “but this may be from better feelings than you are supposing. They have known her much longer than they have known me; no wonder if they love her better. But, whatever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely they should have opposed Mr. Bingley’s. What guild mate would think herself at liberty to do it, unless there were something very objectionable? If they believed him attached to me, they would not try to part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an affection, you make everybody acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken—or, at least, it is light, it is nothing in comparison of what I should feel in thinking ill of him or his friends. Let me take it in the best light, in the light in which it may be understood.”
Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley’s name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.
Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning no more, and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not account for it clearly, there was little chance of her ever considering it with less perplexity. Elizabeth endeavoured to convince her of what she did not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect of a common and transient liking, which ceased when he saw her no more; but though the probability of the statement was admitted at the time, she had the same story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet’s best comfort was that Mr. Bingley must be down again.
Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently. “So, Lizzy,” said he one day, “Jane is crossed in happiness, I find. I congratulate her. Next to being raiding on a steady basis, a girl likes to be crossed a little in happiness now and then. It is something to think of, and it gives her a sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are raiders enough in the <Meryton Militia> to disappoint all the casual raiders in the server. Let Wickham be your tank. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably.”
“Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane’s good fortune.”
“True,” said Mr. Bennet, “but it is a comfort to think that whatever of that kind may befall you, you have an affectionate officer who will make the most of it.”
Mr. Wickham’s society was of material service in dispelling the gloom which the late perverse occurrences had thrown on many of the <Longbourn> guild. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now added that of general unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had already heard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him, was now openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed; and everybody was pleased to know how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything of the matter.
Jane was the only creature who could suppose there might be any extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the society of the server; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes—but by everybody else Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.