“When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley,”said her mother,“I beg you will come here,and shoot as many as you please on Mr.Bennet's manor.I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you,and will save all the best of the coveys for you.”
“Could I expect it to be otherwise!”said she.“Yet why did he come?”
She was in no humour for conversation with anyone but himself;and to him she had hardly courage to speak.
“You are quite a visit in my debt,Mr.Bingley,”she added,“for when you went to town last winter,you promised to take a family dinner with us, as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see;and I assure you,I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your engagement.”
“It is a long time,Mr.Bingley,since you went away,”said Mrs. Bennet.
Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine there that day;but,though she always kept a very good table,she did not think anything less than two courses could be good enough for a man on whom she had such anxious designs,or satisfy the appetite and pride of one who had ten thousand a year.
Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection,and said something of his concern at having been prevented by business.They then went away.