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Pride and Prejudice
Mountaineers · 10th–12th
Lydia never feels the shame her sisters feel for her. Is she better off for not feeling it?
The tension "She blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion suffered no variation of colour."
Notice who speaks and who stays silent at the homecoming, and how Lydia’s careless slip about the wedding sends Elizabeth hunting for answers.
Lydia’s wedding day comes, and Jane and Elizabeth feel for her more, probably, than she feels for herself. The family waits in the breakfast-room: Mrs. Bennet all smiles, Mr. Bennet grave, the daughters uneasy. Lydia runs in, and her mother welcomes her and Wickham with delight; her father is cold and says almost nothing. Lydia is as wild and fearless as ever. She asks her sisters to congratulate her, notices a small change in the room, and laughs that she has been away a long time. Wickham is just as much at ease, and so pleasant that he would have charmed everyone if his character and his marriage had been what they ought. Elizabeth and Jane blush; Lydia and Wickham do not. Lydia talks freely of things her sisters would never mention: how little she expected to be married, and how she let William Goulding see her ring at the carriage window. Elizabeth leaves the room and comes back in time to hear Lydia tell Jane to move down, because a married woman takes her place. Lydia shows her ring to the servants, says her sisters must envy her, and offers to find them husbands at Newcastle; Elizabeth answers that she does not like her way of getting husbands. The couple are to stay ten days before Wickham joins his regiment. Elizabeth sees that Wickham’s affection is less than Lydia’s for him, and believes his flight was forced on him by his circumstances. One morning Lydia tells Jane and Elizabeth about the wedding: her aunt’s lecturing, her dull fortnight in London, and her uncle’s being called away on business just as they were to leave for church. If he had not come back, she says, Mr. Darcy could have given her away. She at once remembers that Darcy’s presence was meant to be a secret. Jane promises to ask nothing; Elizabeth, burning with curiosity, leaves the room so as not to ask. She cannot rest, and writes to Mrs. Gardiner asking why Darcy was at the wedding, unless there are strong reasons to keep it secret, though privately she knows she will not be content not to know. Jane’s sense of honour keeps her from raising the matter, and Elizabeth is glad to have no one to confide in until she hears.
Begin with the room before the door opens. Read aloud the paragraph that arranges the family, from “They came” to “her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy”, and ask students what each face shows as the carriage drives up. Read on through Lydia’s entrance to the blushing sentence, and stop there: ask who in the room is embarrassed, and who caused it. Then read the speech about William Goulding aloud in Lydia’s own voice, and let students enjoy it before asking what she wanted him to see. Leave aside whether Lydia is better off without shame, because the last written question asks it.
Retell The student retells the chapter in order: the sisters’ dread; the family arranged in the breakfast-room; Lydia’s entrance, the two welcomes, and the blush that falls on Jane and Elizabeth; Lydia’s talk and the ring at the carriage window; Elizabeth leaving the room and Lydia taking Jane’s place; the boasting about husbands and Newcastle; Elizabeth’s judgment of Wickham’s affection; Lydia’s account of the wedding and her slip about Darcy; and Elizabeth’s letter to her aunt. Then the student picks the sentence that matters most and says why the chapter needs it.
Imitate the author After copying, the student writes a short paragraph on the model of the first passage: two people greeting the same unwelcome guest. Give the warm welcome one long sentence in three parts divided by semicolons, each part with its own verbs, ending on a phrase that shows what the person takes for granted. Give the cold welcome two short sentences, the first an understatement in the manner of “not quite so cordial.” Read the paragraph aloud and listen for how the lengths do the judging.
Debate Take sides on the last written question. One side argues that Lydia is better off without shame, and gathers “Her ease and good spirits increased”, the ring shown to “Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids”, and “I am sure my sisters must all envy me.” The other side argues that she is worse off, and gathers Elizabeth’s judgment that Wickham’s affection is “not equal to Lydia’s for him”, Elizabeth leaving the room, and the wish “to avoid a family circle”. Each side must answer the other’s strongest line. No side may say what Darcy did at the wedding, that Wickham loves Lydia, or that Lydia will ever repent.
Purpose Close on how the chapter is built. It opens with sisters who feel for Lydia “probably more than she felt for herself”, and much of what follows comes in Lydia’s own words: the ring at the window, Jane’s seat, the wedding morning, the slip about Darcy. Ask why Austen lets so much of the chapter come in Lydia’s own words, and what her carelessness reveals that the narrator never needs to say.
Easier Read aloud the arrival, from “They came” to “suffered no variation of colour”, and Lydia’s speech about William Goulding. Talk about what “alacrity”, “austerity”, “impenetrably” and “impudence” mean, and who in the room is blushing. Talk through the questions on Jane’s dread and on what Lydia is afraid of losing, then answer the last written question aloud before writing it.
On level Talk through all six 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 who carries the weight of Lydia’s marriage in this chapter: the blush that falls on Jane and Elizabeth, the father’s silence, the secret her sisters keep for her, and the room Elizabeth twice leaves. The essay should judge what Austen seems to think of a disgrace that lands on those who did nothing, meet the strongest objection, and must not judge by anything that happens later in the book.
1. On the wedding day, Jane and Elizabeth feel for Lydia “probably more than she felt for herself”. Does Jane’s pity help her see the day clearly, or mislead her?Character
What it asks It asks the student to weigh the chapter’s first act of sympathy, before the guests arrive. “Their sister’s wedding-day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her probably more than she felt for herself.” Their arrival “was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets”, Jane most of all, “who gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself, had _she_ been the culprit, and was wretched in the thought of what her sister must endure.” The narrator’s “probably” is a small hedge, and the homecoming soon tests it: Lydia comes in “untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless”, and when they sit down it is Elizabeth and Jane who blush. Jane’s pity works by putting herself in Lydia’s place, and the student decides whether that shows Jane the day as it is or leads her wrong.
It misleads her. Jane can imagine Lydia only with Jane’s own heart: she pictures what she would feel “had _she_ been the culprit”, and the chapter shows that Lydia feels none of it. The narrator’s “probably” soon proves an understatement: Lydia arrives exactly as she left, “Lydia was Lydia still”. On this reading Jane’s goodness is also a limit. She cannot picture a heart unlike her own, so she suffers for a sister who does not need it.
gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself
Lydia was Lydia still
It helps her. Jane is wrong only about who will feel it; she is right about what the act deserves. The feelings belong to what was done, and someone in the family has to feel them: once the couple are seated, “_She_ blushed, and Jane blushed”. On this reading, putting herself in Lydia’s place shows Jane the situation more truly than Lydia sees it, and her dread is a fair measure of it.
was wretched in the thought of what her sister must endure
She blushed, and Jane blushed
A strong answer A strong response decides whether Jane’s pity helps or misleads her, and grounds it in the opening paragraph. One reader finds that it misleads her: she gives Lydia “the feelings which would have attended herself”, and Lydia arrives “Lydia still”, with none of them. Another finds that it helps her see the day more truly than Lydia does: the feelings belong to what was done, and once the couple sit down it is Jane and Elizabeth who blush. The best answers notice that the chapter’s first sentence already moves the feeling from Lydia to her sisters.
2. Mrs. Bennet welcomed Lydia “with rapture”, and later agreed they all should have gone to Brighton. Mr. Bennet scarcely opened his lips. Which of them fails her more?Moral reasoning
What it asks It asks the student to set the two welcomes side by side and judge each by what it gives Lydia. “Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet, as the carriage drove up to the door; her husband looked impenetrably grave”. The mother “embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture”, gave her hand “with an affectionate smile” to Wickham, and wished them both joy “with an alacrity which showed no doubt of their happiness.” From the father the welcome “was not quite so cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely opened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was enough to provoke him.” When Lydia laughs about her three months away, “Her father lifted up his eyes,” and she “gaily continued”. When she says it is a pity they did not all go to Brighton, her mother answers, “Very true; and if I had my will we should.” In the whole chapter, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bennet says a word to Lydia about what she has done.
The mother. Her welcome tells Lydia that nothing went wrong: rapture, “an affectionate smile” for Wickham, and joy with “no doubt of their happiness.” She agrees that the family should all have gone to Brighton, would like a visit to Newcastle “beyond anything”, and spends the ten days “visiting about with her daughter”. On this reading Mrs. Bennet does active harm. She gives Lydia an audience and a mirror, and every boast comes back to her approved.
alacrity which showed no doubt of their happiness
Very true; and if I had my will we should.
The father. Lydia already knows what her mother thinks; the one voice that could tell her what she has done is his, and he keeps it shut. His face gains “in austerity”, he lifts his eyes, and he “scarcely opened his lips.” Lydia does not read looks: after his lifted eyes she “gaily continued”. On this reading his silence is the easier course for him and no help to her, a rebuke she never has to hear.
he scarcely opened his lips
Her father lifted up his eyes
A strong answer A strong response names one of the two and judges the welcome by what it gives Lydia. One reader blames the mother, whose rapture and “no doubt of their happiness” confirm every boast, down to “Very true; and if I had my will we should.” Another blames the father, whose anger stays in his face while Lydia, after he lifts his eyes, “gaily continued”. The best answers notice that, between delight and silence, neither of them tells Lydia in words what she has done.
3. Elizabeth expects nothing better from Lydia, but she had never thought Wickham could sit among them so much at ease. Why does his calm surprise her when Lydia’s does not?Character
What it asks It asks the student to tell two kinds of ease apart. “Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still”. Then: “Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself; but his manners were always so pleasing, that, had his character and his marriage been exactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he claimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had not before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down, resolving within herself to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent man.” At table he sits near Elizabeth and asks after his acquaintance “with a good-humoured ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her replies.” Later she judges his affection “not equal to Lydia’s for him”, and his flight “rendered necessary by distress of circumstances”. The card does not say that Wickham loves Lydia; Elizabeth’s judgment runs the other way.
Because he knows better. Lydia’s ease is what she has always been; nothing in her has changed. Wickham’s composure, sitting among the family he has wronged, must be held on purpose, and Elizabeth gives it the hardest word in the paragraph, “impudence”. On this reading what surprises her is that his calm is chosen, and so she resolves “to draw no limits in future” to what he will dare.
Elizabeth had not before believed him quite equal to such assurance
to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent man
Because his ease works. Lydia’s noise disgusts the room, but Wickham’s manners “would have delighted them all”: he claims the relationship, asks after old acquaintance, and talks with an ease Elizabeth cannot match. On this reading what surprises her is how well charm can cover a wrong. Lydia shames the family in the open; Wickham makes the wrong pleasant to sit beside, and that is harder to guard against.
his smiles and his easy address, while he claimed their relationship, would have delighted them all
with a good-humoured ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her replies
A strong answer A strong response explains the difference between the two kinds of ease and grounds it in the paragraph. One reader hears a man who knows exactly what he did, so his calm is “impudence”, chosen and held, while Lydia’s is only Lydia. Another hears the danger of charm that works: his smiles “would have delighted them all”, and Elizabeth cannot match his “good-humoured ease”. The best answers notice that the narrator joins the pair in one phrase, “the two who caused their confusion”, and still lets Elizabeth judge them differently.
4. Austen calls Lydia “fearless”, yet twice Lydia says she was afraid. What is she afraid of losing?Inference
What it asks It asks the student to read Lydia through the fears she does confess. The narrator’s list ends on “fearless”, but Lydia says she was “afraid” twice. On the road home: “do the people hereabouts know I am married to-day? I was afraid they might not; and we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was determined he should know it,” and she rested her bare hand on the window frame “so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like anything.” On the wedding morning: “I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to put it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted.” Around these fears sit her wish to hear herself called “Mrs. Wickham” by each neighbour, the ring shown to “Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids”, and Wickham, who “was her dear Wickham on every occasion” and “would kill more birds on the first of September than anybody else in the country.” The card does not say that Wickham loves her as she loves him; Elizabeth judges otherwise.
The show. Both fears are about being seen to be married: the neighbours must know, William Goulding must see the ring, and the wedding must not slip a day. She longs to hear “Mrs. Wickham” from each neighbour and shows the ring even to the housemaids. On this reading what Lydia fears to lose is her triumph as the first of the sisters to marry, and her one real fear is an empty audience.
so I was determined he should know it
to hear herself called “Mrs. Wickham” by each of them
Wickham himself. The wedding-morning fear is a fear of losing him: she would have gone “quite distracted”, heard little of her aunt for “thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham”, and wondered whether he would wear his blue coat. Elizabeth herself judges that the elopement was “brought on by the strength of her love rather than by his”. On this reading Lydia’s fears show a real attachment, foolish and, as Elizabeth sees it, not equally returned, and her boasting is the noise of a girl in love.
I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to put it off
I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat
A strong answer A strong response names what Lydia fears to lose and grounds it in her own words. One reader finds the show: the people hereabouts must know, William Goulding must see the ring, and she longs to be called “Mrs. Wickham” by each neighbour. Another finds Wickham himself: she would have gone “quite distracted” had the wedding been put off, and Elizabeth judges her love the stronger of the two. The best answers notice that none of her fears is about what she did to get there.
5. Lydia promised “so faithfully” not to tell that Darcy was at the wedding, yet she says she would tell all if her sisters asked. Whose honour keeps the rest of the secret?Moral reasoning
What it asks It asks the student to follow a secret that its keeper cannot keep. Telling her wedding story, Lydia says that if her uncle had been kept away, “the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well.” Elizabeth repeats the name “in utter amazement.” Lydia goes on: “Oh, yes! he was to come there with Wickham, you know. But, gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!” Jane answers, “say not another word on the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further.” Elizabeth agrees, “though burning with curiosity”. Lydia thanks them, “for if you did, I should certainly tell you all, and then Wickham would be so angry.” And “On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her power, by running away.” At the end, “Jane’s delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall”. The card does not say what Darcy did at the wedding or why he was there; the chapter keeps it hidden.
The sisters’. Lydia’s promise lasts exactly until someone asks, and she says so herself. Jane will seek “no further”, Jane’s “delicate sense of honour” keeps her silent even with Elizabeth, and Elizabeth must run from the room to keep from asking. On this reading the secret follows the chapter’s pattern: what Lydia ought to carry, her sisters carry for her, as they carried the blush.
for if you did, I should certainly tell you all
Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her power, by running away
Lydia’s, in part. She stops herself mid-story, says “I ought not to have said a word about it”, and knows that a promise was made and half broken. She tells no more. Her reason is thin, since what she fears is what Wickham will say, but it shows that she knows what should and should not be said. On this reading her honour is weak and leans on fear of Wickham’s anger, but it is hers, and so far she keeps the rest of the secret.
I ought not to have said a word about it
What will Wickham say?
A strong answer A strong response decides whose honour holds the secret and grounds it in the exchange. One reader gives it to the sisters: Lydia admits she would “certainly tell you all,” Elizabeth must run from the room, and Jane’s “delicate sense of honour” keeps even the two sisters from talking it over. Another gives Lydia a share: she stops herself, knows she “ought not to have said a word”, and tells no more, though what holds her is fear of what Wickham will say. The best answers notice that this is the second time in the chapter Elizabeth leaves the room because of what Lydia says.
6. In her letter, Elizabeth calls Darcy “comparatively speaking, a stranger to our family”. Who is she trying to convince?Inference
What it asks It asks the student to read Elizabeth’s letter for what it holds back. After Lydia’s slip, “to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible”. Darcy’s being there was “exactly a scene, and exactly among people, where he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go.” Her guesses are “rapid and wild,” and “Those that best pleased her, as placing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable.” She “could not bear such suspense”, and writes in haste to her aunt, asking “how a person unconnected with any of us, and, comparatively speaking, a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such a time.” She offers to “be satisfied with ignorance” if secrecy is needed. Then she adds to herself, “Not that I _shall_, though,” and writes that she will be “reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it out.” She is glad Jane will not raise it: “she had rather be without a confidante.” The card does not say what Darcy did at the wedding, why he was there, or what Mrs. Gardiner will answer.
Her aunt. The phrase is cover. Elizabeth is “burning with curiosity” and “could not bear such suspense”, yet she writes as if Darcy were a near stranger whose presence is merely odd. A cool phrase makes an urgent question look like ordinary curiosity, and the line she keeps to herself, “Not that I _shall_, though,” shows how much the letter holds back. On this reading the letter does exactly what Lydia could not: it keeps a feeling out of sight.
a person unconnected with any of us, and, comparatively speaking, a stranger to our family
Not that I shall, though
Herself. The guesses that please her most seem “most improbable” to her, and she will not let herself believe them. Calling him a stranger keeps hope in check: if he is unconnected with the family, the noble reasons she would like to believe are less likely, and she need not hope for them. She wants no “confidante”, not even Jane, until she knows. On this reading the phrase is a guard she sets on her own wishes.
Those that best pleased her, as placing his conduct in the noblest light, seemed most improbable
she had rather be without a confidante
A strong answer A strong response names whom the phrase is for and grounds it in the closing paragraphs. One reader finds a cover for her aunt: a cool, hedged phrase from someone “burning with curiosity”, whose private aside, “Not that I _shall_, though,” shows what the letter keeps back. Another finds a guard on her own hopes: the guesses that please her most seem “most improbable”, and she wants no “confidante” until she knows. The best answers set Elizabeth’s careful letter beside Lydia’s slip a page before, and notice which sister keeps her feelings out of sight.
1. On the wedding morning, Lydia’s aunt lectured her the whole time she dressed, and Lydia “did not hear above one word in ten”. Is she unable to listen, or unwilling?
What it asks It asks the student to decide whether Lydia cannot take in what she does not want to hear, or will not, and to test that answer against the whole chapter. By her own account her aunt spent the wedding morning “preaching and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon”, and “I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham.” The narrator gives a verdict in one word. When her father lifts his eyes and Elizabeth looks “expressively” at her, Lydia, “who never heard nor saw anything of which she chose to be insensible, gaily continued”. Elsewhere the narrator makes it sound like her nature: “Lydia was Lydia still”, and “It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment from which she had been so wholly free at first.” Her own talk gives evidence both ways. She notices “some little alteration” in the room; she catches her own slip about Darcy (“I ought not to have said a word about it”); when Elizabeth says “there cannot be too little said on the subject”, she answers “La! You are so strange!” and tells the story anyway. Yet her fortnight in London is remembered for “Not one party, or scheme, or anything!” The card does not say whether Lydia will ever repent or change.
Unwilling. Lydia hears well enough when she wants to. She notices “some little alteration” in the room, leads “voluntarily” to the very subjects her sisters avoid, and catches her own slip with “I ought not to have said a word about it”. When Elizabeth plainly does not want to hear about the wedding, Lydia hears that too, calls her strange, and goes on. The sermon lost to the blue coat because Lydia preferred the blue coat. On this reading the narrator’s “chose” is exact: Lydia is not deaf, she turns away.
who never heard nor saw anything of which she chose to be insensible
La! You are so strange! But I must tell you how it went off.
Unable, by now. Talk that does not touch her own pleasure does not reach her: a sermon heard one word in ten while she wondered about a blue coat, a fortnight in London remembered only for the parties she missed, a secret dropped in the middle of a story about her uncle’s business. The narrator says time would not bring her the embarrassment “from which she had been so wholly free at first”. On this reading whatever choosing there was is long past. What is left is her nature, “Lydia was Lydia still”, and her aunt’s sermon never had a chance.
I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham
It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment from which she had been so wholly free at first
A strong answer A strong response might argue that Lydia is unwilling: she notices “some little alteration” in the room, catches her own slip with “I ought not to have said a word about it”, and meets Elizabeth’s refusal to hear the wedding story with “La! You are so strange!” before telling it anyway. Key evidence to consider includes the narrator’s own sentence, where her father’s lifted eyes and Elizabeth’s look are followed at once by “gaily continued”. The strongest objection is that much of her talk shows a girl who cannot take in what does not touch her own pleasure: she heard one word in ten of the sermon because she was thinking of Wickham, and the narrator says time would not bring the embarrassment she was “so wholly free” of. A revised thesis might hold that the choosing is real but old: Lydia has chosen what to hear so often that it has become her nature, which is why the narrator can say both “chose” and “Lydia was Lydia still”.
2. Lydia never feels the shame her sisters feel for her. Is she better off for not feeling it?
What it asks It asks the whole question of the chapter. The homecoming turns on one sentence: “_She_ blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion suffered no variation of colour.” Lydia’s happiness is plain: “Her ease and good spirits increased”; she longs to hear herself called “Mrs. Wickham”; of Newcastle she says, “I shall like it of all things.” She is “exceedingly fond” of Wickham, and Elizabeth judges his affection “not equal to Lydia’s for him”, his flight “rendered necessary by distress of circumstances”. Her ease has costs that fall on others: Elizabeth “could bear it no longer” and leaves the room, Jane is told she “must go lower,” and the family’s many parties are welcome because “to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as did think than such as did not.” Lydia herself is sure her sisters “must all envy me.” The card does not say that Wickham loves her, that she will ever repent or change, or what Darcy did at the wedding.
Better off, by any measure she would use. Shame would change nothing that has happened; the marriage is made, and Lydia enjoys it. Her “ease and good spirits increased”, she shows her ring to the housemaids, and she plans balls at Newcastle. Her sisters’ blushes undo nothing either. On this reading the chapter’s irony cuts at the sisters as well: they carry a pain that helps no one, while Lydia, untroubled, is the happiest person in the house.
Her ease and good spirits increased
I am sure my sisters must all envy me
Worse off, because shame would have let her see. Without it she cannot see what Elizabeth sees: that Wickham’s affection is “not equal to Lydia’s for him”, and that “he was not the young man to resist an opportunity of having a companion.” Nor can she see what her sisters feel: Elizabeth leaves the room, and those who think would rather avoid the family circle. On this reading her freedom from shame is a kind of blindness, and it costs her the clear sight of her husband that Elizabeth has, and the regard of the people who love her.
Wickham’s affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected to find it; not equal to Lydia’s for him
to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as did think than such as did not
A strong answer A strong response might argue that Lydia is better off: shame would undo nothing, and without it her “ease and good spirits increased” while her sisters blush for a deed they did not do. Key evidence to consider includes the blushing sentence, where the feeling falls on Jane and Elizabeth and the cheeks of “the two who caused their confusion” stay unchanged. The strongest objection is that shame would have let her see: Elizabeth judges Wickham’s affection “not equal to Lydia’s for him”, the thinking members of the family would rather not sit together, and Lydia notices none of it. A revised thesis might hold that she is happier but not better off, because the ease that keeps her happy is the same thing that keeps her from seeing her husband or her sisters clearly.
Elizabeth had not before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down, resolving within herself to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent man.Shameless boldness; nerve that does not care what anyone thinks (from Latin impudens, without shame: in-, not, and pudere, to be ashamed). At its root the word names what this chapter is about, having no shame. Elizabeth resolves “to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent man”, using the noun and the adjective together, as if Wickham’s impudence could be explained only by itself.
Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture; gave her hand with an affectionate smile to Wickham, who followed his lady; and wished them both joy, with an alacrity which showed no doubt of their happiness.Cheerful readiness; quick, willing eagerness (from Latin alacer, lively or brisk). Mrs. Bennet wishes the couple joy “with an alacrity which showed no doubt of their happiness”: the speed of her welcome is itself the sign that she has no doubts to get past.
His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely opened his lips.Sternness; a severe, unsmiling plainness (from Greek austeros, harsh or bitter to the taste). Mr. Bennet’s face “rather gained in austerity”: it grows sterner while he says almost nothing. Today the word often means strict saving, as in government spending; Austen means the look of a stern face.
Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet, as the carriage drove up to the door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy.In a way that cannot be seen into or got through (from Latin in-, not, and penetrare, to enter or pierce). Mr. Bennet “looked impenetrably grave”: nobody can read what lies behind his face, and he does not say. In the same sentence his wife’s smiles show everything she feels.