“I am sure,” said she, “I cried for two days together when Colonel Miller’s regiment went away. I thought I should have broke my heart.”
“I am sure I shall break _mine_,” said Lydia.
“If one could but go to Brighton!” observed Mrs. Bennet.
“Oh yes!--if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable.”
“A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever.”
“And my aunt Philips is sure it would do _me_ a great deal of good,” added Kitty.
Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through Longbourn House. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them; but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy’s objections; and never had she before been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the views of his friend.
But the gloom of Lydia’s prospect was shortly cleared away; for she received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good-humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their _three_ months’ acquaintance they had been intimate _two_.
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister’s feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone’s congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repining at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.