“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!”
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him.He was her dear Wickham on every occasion;no one was to be put in competition with him. He did every thing best in the world;and she was sure he would kill more birds on the first of September,than any body else in the country.
But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible;or at least it was impossible not to try for information.Mr.Darcy had been at her sister's wedding.It was exactly a scene,and exactly among people, where he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go.Conjectures as to the meaning of it,rapid and wild, hurried into her brain; but she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her,as placing his conduct in the noblest light,seemed most improbable.She could not bear such suspense;and hastily seizing a sheet of paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt,to request an explanation of what Lydia had dropped,if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been intended.