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Pride and Prejudice
Mountaineers · 10th–12th
Mr. Bennet says the fault is his own, then jokes that he may wait till Kitty runs away. Is his regret real?
The tension "Let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame" sits beside "It will pass away soon enough," and the dry teasing that sends Kitty to tears follows straight after.
Notice how news arrives only through letters, and how the neighbours who once admired Wickham now compete to blacken him.
The family hopes for a letter from Mr. Bennet in the morning post, and it brings nothing. Mr. Gardiner leaves for London, promising to send his brother-in-law home, which comforts Mrs. Bennet, who fears a duel. Mrs. Gardiner stays a few days to help her nieces. Aunt Philips visits often to cheer them, and always brings some fresh story of Wickham’s debts and misdeeds. All Meryton, which thought Wickham almost an angel of light three months before, now calls him the wickedest young man in the world and claims always to have distrusted him. Elizabeth believes about half of it, enough to make her surer of her sister’s ruin, and even Jane grows almost hopeless. On Tuesday Mr. Gardiner writes that Mr. Bennet has been to Epsom and Clapham without success and now means to try the principal hotels; he has written to Colonel Forster to ask about Wickham’s relations, and adds that perhaps Lizzy could tell them more. Elizabeth knows of none but his dead father and mother. Every morning the post is the great event of the day. A letter comes for Mr. Bennet from Mr. Collins, which Jane opens and Elizabeth reads over her shoulder: he condoles with the family, says the death of their daughter would have been a blessing in comparison, blames indulgence or else Lydia’s bad nature, reports that Lady Catherine fears for the other daughters’ prospects, rejoices that last November turned out as it did, and advises Mr. Bennet to throw Lydia off for ever. Mr. Gardiner writes again after hearing from Colonel Forster: Wickham has no relation he keeps up with and no close friend in the regiment, and he has left large gaming debts; Colonel Forster thinks more than a thousand pounds would be needed to clear his expenses at Brighton. Jane is horrified. Mr. Bennet, spiritless at his failure, has agreed to come home and leave the search to Mr. Gardiner. Mrs. Bennet is less pleased than her family expected and asks who is to fight Wickham and make him marry Lydia. Mrs. Gardiner and the little Gardiners return to London in the coach that brings Mr. Bennet back, Mrs. Gardiner still puzzled about Elizabeth and Darcy, since no letter has come from Pemberley. Elizabeth knows that she would have borne the dread of Lydia’s disgrace better had she never known Darcy. Mr. Bennet arrives with his usual calm and says nothing of the search. At tea, when Elizabeth speaks of what he must have suffered, he says the fault is his own and that he should feel it, though the feeling will pass soon enough. He says Lydia must be happy in London, grants that Elizabeth’s advice last May was right, and mocks the fuss of carrying tea up to his wife. When Kitty protests that she would behave better than Lydia at Brighton, he lays down mock rules: no officers, no balls unless with a sister, no going out until she can prove ten rational minutes a day. Kitty cries, and he promises to take her to a review if she is good for ten years.
Start with the post. Read aloud the short paragraph that begins “Every day at Longbourn”, and ask students what it is like to wait for news you cannot hurry. Then, as they read, have them keep a short list of every letter in the chapter: who writes it, what it brings, and the two that never come, Mr. Bennet’s on the first morning and the one Mrs. Gardiner half expected from Derbyshire. Let them meet Mr. Bennet at tea where the chapter puts him, after all the letters. Leave aside whether his regret is real, because the last written question asks it.
Retell The student retells the chapter in order: the empty post; Mr. Gardiner’s departure and Mrs. Bennet’s fear of a duel; aunt Philips and Meryton’s turn against Wickham; Mr. Gardiner’s first letter and its postscript about Lizzy; the daily wait for the post; Mr. Collins’s letter; Colonel Forster’s report and the gaming debts; Mr. Bennet’s return and Mrs. Bennet’s complaint; Mrs. Gardiner’s puzzle about Darcy and Elizabeth’s sleepless nights; and the tea, from “Say nothing of that” to the promise of a review. Then the student picks the sentence that matters most and says why the chapter needs it.
Imitate the author After copying, the student writes three sentences on the model of the passage, about a household waiting for news of their own. In the first, open on a hope and close it with “but” and what did not come. In the second, set a person’s habit “on all common occasions” against what “such a time” asks, giving the habit the long half of the sentence and the hope the short half, across a semicolon. In the third, write one long sentence about a visitor: give the visitor’s stated aim first, then turn it with a dash and “though”, and end on a double negative like “never came without” and “seldom went away without”, so that the sentence repeats its own shape.
Debate Take sides on the last written question. One side argues that the regret is real and that wit is how this man carries it, and gathers “let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame”, “drily”, and “I have at least learnt to be cautious”. The other side argues that the regret slides back into old habit within minutes, and gathers “It will pass away soon enough”, the joke that Lydia “is happy, then”, the “parade” of his wife’s tea, and Kitty’s tears. Each side must answer the other’s strongest line. No side may claim that he will in fact rule his family differently, or say where Lydia and Wickham are, since the chapter does not know.
Purpose Close on how the chapter is built. For most of its length the news comes by letter: Mr. Gardiner’s two, Mr. Collins’s, Colonel Forster’s findings at second hand, and two that never come. Meanwhile the man at the centre says nothing, first by post and then at home. Ask why Austen holds back his voice until tea, and why, when it comes, she ends not on his confession but on Kitty’s tears and a promise of a review in ten years. Then ask what the chapter suggests about regret: what it takes for it to last, and what it looks like when it does not.
Easier Read aloud the tea scene, from “Say nothing of that” to the end of the chapter. Talk about what “dilatory” and “dispirited” mean. Talk through the questions on Mrs. Bennet’s two wishes and on Elizabeth’s words to her father, then answer the last written question aloud before writing it.
On level Talk through all five discussion questions in order, then write both written questions as a thesis, the strongest objection and a revised thesis, each with lines from the chapter.
Harder Ask for one argued essay on how the chapter brings its crisis first through letters and then through one man’s talk at tea, tracing the empty post, Mr. Gardiner’s reports, Mr. Collins’s letter, Mr. Bennet’s silence on his return and the tea scene. The essay should judge whether Mr. Bennet’s wit is honesty or evasion, meet the strongest objection, and must not judge by anything that happens later in the book.
1. Three months ago, Meryton thought Wickham was “almost an angel of light.” Why does everyone now say they had “always distrusted” him?Theme
What it asks It asks the student why a town that praised Wickham now claims it never trusted him. The paragraph runs: “All Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man who, but three months before, had been almost an angel of light. He was declared to be in debt to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, all honoured with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman’s family. Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world; and everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the appearance of his goodness.” Aunt Philips feeds it, never coming “without reporting some fresh instance of Wickham’s extravagance or irregularity”. Elizabeth “did not credit above half of what was said”, and Jane “believed still less of it”. Later Colonel Forster’s inquiry, not the town’s talk, brings the one firm fact: Wickham “had left gaming debts behind him to a very considerable amount.” The card does not say that Meryton’s new stories are true; Elizabeth herself credits no more than half.
To save face. If everybody “always distrusted” him, then nobody was ever taken in, and nobody has to admit a mistake. The narrator’s “began to find out” gives it away: a distrust discovered three months late was never there. On this reading “always” is how a whole town changes sides without owning a mistake, and the stories swell, to “every tradesman in the place”, because the louder the blame, the less anyone remembers the praise.
everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the appearance of his goodness
All Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man who, but three months before, had been almost an angel of light.
Because the news has changed how they remember. Once Wickham has run off with Lydia, every past charm looks like a warning, and people honestly come to believe they felt it at the time. On this reading the town is fooling itself more than anyone else, and fear shapes belief even in the careful: Elizabeth, who credits only half, still believes enough to make Lydia’s ruin “still more certain.”
Elizabeth, though she did not credit above half of what was said, believed enough to make her former assurance of her sister’s ruin still more certain
Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world
A strong answer A strong response gives the town a reason and grounds it in the paragraph. One reader hears pride: if everybody “always distrusted” the man they called “almost an angel of light”, nobody was fooled, and the narrator’s “began to find out” shows the distrust is new. Another hears people honestly rewriting their memories under fear, as even careful Elizabeth believes enough to make Lydia’s ruin “still more certain”. The best answers notice that Meryton turns without owning a mistake, and set that beside the man at tea who does own one.
2. Mr. Collins offers a thought “for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet”: perhaps Lydia was simply born bad. What kind of comfort is that?Moral reasoning
What it asks It asks the student to judge the comfort Mr. Collins offers. His letter says Lydia’s behaviour “has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence”, a view he has from “my dear Charlotte”, and then: “though, at the same time, for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of such an enormity, at so early an age.” Earlier he writes, “The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this.” He adds that Lady Catherine agrees “this false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the others”, and asks who “will connect themselves with such a family?” He reflects “with augmented satisfaction, on a certain event of last November”, and ends by advising Mr. Bennet to cast Lydia out of his affection for ever. Jane opens the letter and Elizabeth reads it over her shoulder; the chapter gives no reply from either. At tea Mr. Bennet says, “It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.” The card does not say whether Mr. Bennet ever reads the letter; the chapter does not tell us.
A real comfort, as Collins means it. If Lydia’s nature was bad from the start, nothing her father and mother did or failed to do could have saved her, and the charge of indulgence lifts off them. He offers it in the same breath as that charge, as if handing them a way out of it. On this reading he is sincere, and the horror of the letter is that the world he speaks for would really call this a kindness.
for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad
has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence
No comfort at all. A bad nature does not stay in one girl: the next lines fear for “the fortunes of all the others”, and Lady Catherine asks who will join such a family. If Lydia was born bad, the world may think her sisters were too. On this reading the “consolation” condemns the whole house, and Collins, glad of last November, is pleased to stand outside it.
this false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the others
reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on a certain event of last November
A strong answer A strong response decides what kind of comfort Collins offers and grounds it in the letter. One reader hears a sincere comfort: if Lydia’s “disposition must be naturally bad”, the blame for “indulgence” lifts from her father and mother. Another hears a comfort that condemns the whole family, since the next lines fear for “the fortunes of all the others” and Collins looks back “with augmented satisfaction” on last November. The best answers notice that at tea Mr. Bennet takes the blame on himself and reaches for no such comfort.
3. Mrs. Bennet wanted her husband home, safe from a duel, but when she hears he is coming, she asks who is “to fight Wickham” if he leaves London. How can she want both?Character
What it asks It asks the student to make sense of two wishes that cannot both come true: the duel she feared and the fight she now asks for are the same act. When Mr. Gardiner leaves for London he promises “to prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn as soon as he could, to the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only security for her husband’s not being killed in a duel.” Days later, when she is told he is coming home, she “did not express so much satisfaction as” her daughters expected, “considering what her anxiety for his life had been before.” She cries: “What! is he coming home, and without poor Lydia?” and then, “Sure he will not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry her, if he comes away?” The card does not say whether Lydia and Wickham will be found or will marry; the search has found nothing.
She wants the marriage more. Her fear for his life was real while it was only a fear, but when the choice comes, what she cannot give up is Lydia married. She asks for a fight and a wedding in one breath, and the fight is only the means. On this reading she wants both only until she must choose, and then her husband’s safety comes second.
Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry her, if he comes away?
she did not express so much satisfaction as
She never sets them side by side. Mrs. Bennet feels whatever the latest news makes her feel: a duel frightens her, so she wants him home; he is coming home without Lydia, so she wants him to stay. It is her daughters, not she, who notice the clash; the narrator says they “expected” more gladness. On this reading she can want both because each wish lives only in its own hour, and the next piece of news will bring another.
the only security for her husband’s not being killed in a duel
considering what her anxiety for his life had been before
A strong answer A strong response explains how she holds both wishes and grounds it in both moments. One reader hears the marriage win: when the choice comes, she asks “Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry her”, and the fight is only the means. Another hears a woman whose wishes follow the latest news and never meet, so that only her daughters, who expected her to be glad, see the clash. The best answers notice that the duel and the fight are the same act, and set her quick turn beside her husband’s at tea.
4. Elizabeth is sure that if she had never known Darcy, she could face the fear of Lydia’s disgrace “somewhat better.” Why does knowing him make it worse?Inference
What it asks It asks the student what Darcy adds to Elizabeth’s dread. Mrs. Gardiner leaves “in all the perplexity about Elizabeth and her Derbyshire friend”, whose name “had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece”, and the letter she half expected “had ended in nothing. Elizabeth had received none since her return, that could come from Pemberley.” Then: “The present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse for the lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, could be fairly conjectured from _that_,--though Elizabeth, who was by this time tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia’s infamy somewhat better. It would have spared her, she thought, one sleepless night out of two.” Earlier in the chapter she has read Mr. Collins’s letter over Jane’s shoulder, with Lady Catherine’s question: who “will connect themselves with such a family?” She tells no one. The card does not say that Darcy has any part in the search; nothing has come from Pemberley.
Shame. Lydia’s fall is a disgrace the whole world will hear of, and Darcy is one of the people whose good opinion Elizabeth now cares about. She keeps him out of her talk, never naming him “voluntarily”, as if even his name would show too much. On this reading Darcy does not take her mind off Lydia; he makes her see Lydia’s disgrace through his eyes, so she feels it twice over.
His name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece
had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia’s infamy somewhat better
Loss. Part of the grief is her own: a hope she has not named to anyone. No letter has come from Pemberley, and Collins has just set down what the world will think, that no one “will connect themselves with such a family”. On this reading Lydia’s disgrace costs Elizabeth something of her own, and she knows it, “tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings”, while the family’s trouble hides it from everyone else.
Elizabeth had received none since her return, that could come from Pemberley.
will connect themselves with such a family?
A strong answer A strong response names what Darcy adds and grounds it in the chapter. One reader hears shame: Darcy makes her see Lydia’s disgrace as he will see it, and she keeps his name out of her talk. Another hears the loss of a hope she has told no one, made plain by the silence from Pemberley and by Lady Catherine’s question, who “will connect themselves with such a family?” The best answers notice that the narrator says she is “tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings” and measures this one exactly, and set that private honesty beside her father’s at tea.
5. Elizabeth’s advice last May proved right, yet she is the one who tells her father, “You must not be too severe upon yourself.” What does she want from him?Character
What it asks It asks the student what Elizabeth wants from her father when she softens a blame she has every right to let stand. Her father says nothing of the search until tea, when Elizabeth “ventured to introduce the subject”. On her “briefly expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured”, he replies: “Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.” Elizabeth answers, “You must not be too severe upon yourself,” and he returns: “You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it!” A little later he says, “Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, shows some greatness of mind.” Jane comes in before Elizabeth can answer. Mr. Gardiner has reported him “spiritless by the ill success of all their endeavours”. The chapter calls it only his “advice to me last May”; the card does not say more about it.
She wants to spare him. It is love, and pity for a tired man. He has come home spent from a search that failed, and he will not even let her speak of what he endured. She does not need to be right; she needs him to be all right. On this reading her words are a daughter’s kindness, and it says much that the one who was proved right is the first to soften the blame.
Rendered spiritless by the ill success of all their endeavours
on her briefly expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured
She wants the hard subject closed. It is the family habit, and Elizabeth shares it. Her father has opened the door to a hard truth, and she closes it with a polite phrase. He mocks it at once: being too hard on oneself is the evil human nature is least prone to. On this reading her comfort, kind as it is, gives the talk a way to slide off the fault, and he takes the opening she offers.
You must not be too severe upon yourself
You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it!
A strong answer A strong response names what Elizabeth wants from her father and grounds it in the tea scene. One reader hears love, a wish to see him all right: her father has come home “spiritless” and will not let her speak of what he endured, and the daughter who was proved right is the first to soften the blame. Another hears the family habit in her too: she wants the hard subject closed and offers a polite way out, and he turns it into a joke at once, “You may well warn me against such an evil.” The best answers notice that the joking begins with her kindness, and leave for the last written question whether his regret survives it.
1. Mr. Gardiner thinks the hotel search will fail, yet he is the one who stays in London when Mr. Bennet goes home. Which man does more for Lydia?
What it asks It asks the student to weigh the two men’s parts in the search, from the only reports the chapter gives of it. The family first “had hoped for exertion”, but “the post came in without bringing a single line from him”. Mr. Gardiner writes that Mr. Bennet “had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival, but without gaining any satisfactory information”, and now means to inquire at the principal hotels. “Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any success from this measure; but as his brother was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it.” In a postscript Mr. Gardiner adds, “I have written to Colonel Forster”, to learn whether Wickham has relations who might know where he is hiding. Colonel Forster finds that Wickham has no relation he keeps up with and no close friend in the regiment, so “There was no one, therefore, who could be pointed out as likely to give any news of him.” Mr. Gardiner’s second letter says that, “Rendered spiritless by the ill success of all their endeavours,” Mr. Bennet “had yielded to his brother-in-law’s entreaty that he would return to his family and leave it to him”. Mrs. Bennet asks, “Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry her, if he comes away?” At home Mr. Bennet makes “no mention of the business that had taken him away”. The card does not say where Lydia and Wickham are, or whether they will marry.
Mr. Gardiner. He expects nothing from the hotels and helps anyway, because his brother is eager. He thinks of writing to Colonel Forster, he writes home while Mr. Bennet sends no line, and when Mr. Bennet is spent he takes the whole pursuit on himself. On this reading the man who hoped least did most, and kept at it.
Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any success from this measure; but as his brother was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it.
leave it to him to do whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable for continuing their pursuit
Mr. Bennet. He searched Epsom and Clapham alone before any help came, and the hotel plan is his; Mr. Gardiner only means “to assist him”. Mr. Gardiner’s own idea, the letter to Colonel Forster, finds no one who could give news. Mr. Bennet goes home only when all their efforts have failed, and only at his brother-in-law’s urging. On this reading the father did more, and the eager hope was his, until it ran out.
That Mr. Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival, but without gaining any satisfactory information
Rendered spiritless by the ill success of all their endeavours, he had yielded to his brother-in-law’s entreaty
A strong answer A strong response might argue that Mr. Gardiner does more: he expects nothing from the hotels and helps anyway, thinks of writing to Colonel Forster, writes home when Mr. Bennet sends not “a single line”, and takes on the pursuit “to do whatever occasion might suggest”. Key evidence includes “Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any success from this measure” beside “as his brother was eager in it”. The strongest objection is that Mr. Bennet searched Epsom and Clapham before any help came and drove the hotel plan, and that Mr. Gardiner’s letter to Colonel Forster found no one either. A revised thesis might hold that Mr. Bennet hoped more and Mr. Gardiner lasted longer: the father’s effort was real, and it ran out, “spiritless”, when the other man’s did not. That leaves the tea scene to test whether his regret will last any better.
2. Mr. Bennet says the fault is his own, then jokes that he may wait till Kitty runs away. Is his regret real?
What it asks It asks the whole question of the chapter. At tea Mr. Bennet says: “Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.” When Elizabeth warns him not to be too severe upon himself: “You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough.” Of Lydia in London: “She is happy, then,” said her father, drily; “and her residence there will probably be of some duration.” To Elizabeth: “Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, shows some greatness of mind.” When Jane fetches her mother’s tea: “This is a parade,” cried he, “which does one good; it gives such an elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same; I will sit in my library, in my nightcap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble as I can,--or perhaps I may defer it till Kitty runs away.” When Kitty says she would behave better than Lydia, he answers that he “would not trust you so near it as Eastbourne, for fifty pounds!” and goes on: “No, Kitty, I have at least learnt to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter my house again, nor even to pass through the village. Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters. And you are never to stir out of doors, till you can prove that you have spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner.” “Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.” He ends: “Well, well,” said he, “do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them.” A review is a parade of soldiers. The card does not say that he will in fact govern his family differently, nor where Lydia and Wickham are.
Real, and he knows how long it will last. His words, “let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame”, are no small thing from a man who never says what he feels, and he says it before anyone accuses him. “It will pass away soon enough” is not a dodge but a plain fact about himself, said with the same honesty. The jokes that follow are how this man has always carried pain, and under the joke to Kitty is something meant: he has “at least learnt to be cautious”. On this reading the regret is real, and wit is the only language he has for it.
let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame
I have at least learnt to be cautious
Real for a moment, and the chapter lets us watch it go. Within minutes he jokes that Lydia “is happy, then”, mocks his wife’s keeping to her room, and gives Kitty rules that end in a review ten years off. Kitty takes them seriously and cries. His own words foretold it: “It will pass away soon enough.” On this reading a regret that turns into teasing before the tea is cold may not be the kind that changes a household, and Kitty is the first to feel the difference.
It will pass away soon enough.
Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.
A strong answer A strong response might argue that the regret is real but brief, as he himself foretells: “let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame” is a true confession, and “It will pass away soon enough” is the same honesty turned on his own nature. Key evidence to consider includes how fast the talk turns: within minutes he says that Lydia “is happy, then”, calls Jane’s errand “a parade”, and gives Kitty rules that end in a review ten years away. The strongest objection is that the jokes are not a slide away from the regret but the only way this man can carry it, and that “I have at least learnt to be cautious” is meant. A revised thesis might hold that the regret is real and the habit is stronger, and that Kitty, who takes him “in a serious light” and cries, is the one who pays for the difference.
His family knew him to be, on all common occasions, a most negligent and dilatory correspondent; but at such a time they had hoped for exertion.Slow to act; given to putting things off (from Latin differre, to put off or delay). Mr. Bennet is known as “a most negligent and dilatory correspondent”, a man who never hurries to write. The word names a settled habit, and the sentence tests it at once: “at such a time they had hoped for exertion”, and the post brings nothing.
Their other aunt also visited them frequently, and always, as she said, with the design of cheering and heartening them up--though, as she never came without reporting some fresh instance of Wickham’s extravagance or irregularity, she seldom went away without leaving them more dispirited than she found them.Low in spirits; discouraged (dis-, taking away, and spirit). Aunt Philips comes “with the design of cheering” her nieces and leaves them more dispirited than before, because she cannot keep back the latest story about Wickham. The word sets her stated aim against what her visits actually do.
“A gamester!” she cried.A person who gambles as a habit, at cards or dice, for money (from game). Wickham has left “gaming debts behind him to a very considerable amount”, and his “debts of honour”, gambling debts a gentleman was bound to pay, are the heaviest of all. To Jane the word names a vice she never suspected: “This is wholly unexpected; I had not an idea of it.”
His name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by her niece; and the kind of half-expectation which Mrs. Gardiner had formed, of their being followed by a letter from him, had ended in nothing.Of one’s own free will, without being asked or made to (from Latin voluntas, will). Elizabeth has never named Darcy “voluntarily” before her aunt: she speaks of him only when she must. Her silence is a choice, and it is that choice that leaves Mrs. Gardiner in “perplexity”.
The present unhappy state of the family rendered any other excuse for the lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing, therefore, could be fairly conjectured from that,--though Elizabeth, who was by this time tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware that, had she known nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia’s infamy somewhat better.Fairly; reasonably (from tolerable, able to be borne). In Austen “tolerably well acquainted” means fairly well, not barely: by now Elizabeth knows her own feelings clearly. The word is an understatement, and it fits a sentence that measures her feeling just as carefully, “somewhat better”.