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> Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on

> my judgment than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that

> he had deceived himself was no very difficult point. To persuade

> him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had

> been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame

> myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my

> conduct, in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satis-

> faction; it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so

> far as to conceal from him your sister's being in town. I knew it

> myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley; but her brother is even

> yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill consequence

> is, perhaps, probable; but his regard did not appear to me enough

> extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps

> this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, how-

> ever, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing

> more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your

> sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives

> which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I

> have not yet learnt to condemn them. -- With respect to that other,

> more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can

> only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with

> my family. Of what he has _particularly_ accused me I am ignorant;

> but of the truth of what I shall relate I can summon more than one

> witness of undoubted veracity. Mr. Wickham is the son of a very

> respectable man, who had for many years the management of all

> the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of

> his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and

> on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore

> liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and after-

> wards at Cambridge; most important assistance, as his own father,

> always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been

> unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not

> only fond of this young man's society, whose manners were always

> engaging, he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the

> church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it.

> As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think

> of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities, the

> want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge

> of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man

> of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of

> seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not

> have. Here again I shall give you pain -- to what degree you only

> can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham

> has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from

> unfolding his real character. It adds even another motive. My

> excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to

> Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particu-

> larly recommended it to me to promote his advancement in the best

> manner that his profession might allow, and if he took orders, desired

> that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became

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