At dinner, Lizzy looked radiant in cropped jeans and a smart pale blue-and-white Crew shirt. Civil enquiries poured in with regards to the patient who, by the ladies, was then soon forgotten, restoring Lizzy to her original dislike of them.
Bingley’s contrasting constant thoughts for Jane, however, endeared her still more to him, although even in her own mind, his attentions were verging on the excessive. “Do you think her right eye will recover to its former glory? Of course, I don’t mind, for her left eye is more than beautiful enough for one person, but I would not like her to be upset.” And “Oh how gracefully she walked previously—I do pray for her sake she will not develop a limp—although of course I should not mind, only mind for her sake.” And “Oh how she had the voice of an angel. Do you think she will be able to speak as sweetly as before? Of course I would not mind if she had no voice at all, as her angelic looks are enough for me, but it might inconvenience her.” And “What if her right arm should not mend? Would she be able to paint and draw and do embroidery as well as previously? Of course I would not mind; her left arm is quite delightful enough for me, but it might upset her to be so encumbered.” And so on and so forth until Lizzy barely knew which part of Jane’s body had not been discussed and wished for total recovery.
Mr Darcy said little but continued to observe, and Mr Hurst simply ate.
After dinner, Lizzy returned to Jane who, by blinking with her one visible eye, managed to indicate she was feeling a little better.
Downstairs, Cazza, Lulu, and Hattie amused themselves by discussing their horror at Lizzy’s cross-estuary swim.
“Why must she be frolicking about in the waves like that just because her sister had met with a slight misfortune? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!”
“And her fingers and toes blue with cold. Quite blue!”
“All lost on me,” said Bingley. “I thought Lizzy looked remarkably well when she emerged from the sea this morning. Her blue extremities quite escaped my notice.”
“You observed it, Mr Darcy, I am sure, and I am afraid that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”
“Not at all,” he replied, “even through her mask I could see that they were brightened by the exercise.”
Cazza was brought to a momentary silence by this remark, but then continued, “Jane is a sweet girl, and I hope she will be married well. But with such parents and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”
“No. And what is more, they are state educated. They have little hope.”
“State educated they may be, but grammar girls,” cried Bingley. “By my understanding, they are as bright as buttons!”
“That, dear Brother, is your understanding.”
At that moment, Lizzy re-entered the room.
“Ah, Lizzy! Do come and join us on our Wii,” said Cazza, leaping up. “We thought we would play polo. You are familiar with polo, I presume?”
“Sadly not. At our school, netball was the main sport. I was wing defence. No, I shall decline polo and would rather read.”
“Read!” cried Mr Hurst, astonished. “How could you prefer to read than play polo?”
“Lizzy is a great reader,” said Cazza. “She is insanely keen on reading, reading, reading, page after page after page, book after book after book, and has no pleasure in anything else.”
“That is not true! I—”
“I am sorry I have so pifflingly small a library,” interjected Bingley. “I am afraid I am not a great reader myself, so have only a few classics for you to peruse—Dahl, Potter, Blyton—the usual stuff.”
“I am sure you have a fine library aboard Pemberley , Darcy,” said Cazza. “Your father was a beast of a reader.”
“I do.”
“And tell me, will your sweet sister, Georgiana, be joining us soon? She must be much grown. GCSE’s I do believe. And such a bright girl—top of her class at a top public school. And what accomplishments—polo, of course, and she plays the pianoforte like a dream.”