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Mr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation,

that he never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear

sister Elizabeth, by introducing the subject of it; and she was

pleased to find that she had said enough to keep him quiet.

The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came; and Mrs. Bennet

was forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no

means entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle,

was likely to continue at least a twelvemonth.

"Oh, my dear Lydia," she cried, "when shall we meet again?"

"Oh, Lord! I don't know. Not these two or three years, perhaps."

"Write to me very often, my dear."

"As often as I can. But you know married women have never much

time for writing. My sisters may write to me. They will have

nothing else to do."

Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectionate than his wife's.

He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things.