The next day found Mary in the library.
She was just then seeking refuge in one of her old favorites, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, and was set to copying out an extract, for it was an action that always soothed her, and endowed her thoughts with a renewed concentration – and so, she wrote, in her clear, matter-of-fact hand:
"That desire is a state of uneasiness, every one who reflects on himself will quickly find. Who is there that has not felt in desire what the wise man says of hope, (which is not much different from it,) that it being 'deferred makes the heart sick' – "
But here she paused, unconsciously, and her hand hesitated to continue its work, for there was something in the line of it, a line she had read already many a time, which gave an unfamiliar sensation within her chest – it was perhaps because there was at that moment already in her an uneasiness, which had been present now all day, and which would not, indeed, be still or depart; even now, as she set herself to a task which was most often familiar and calming.
It was not only extracts that failed her – no book had steadied her, no track of contemplation sufficiently distracted her; her thoughts were at times muddled and indistinct; at others, painful in their clarity; they darted from subject to subject with an aimlessness, they ebbed and flowed with a frantic rapidity. She was indeed anxious, but could not be called upon to name the cause of such nerves; all she knew was that her being was aquiver, and had been so since the afternoon at Mr. Crawford's yesterday – the mere remembrance of it could instantly set her heart beating, her cheeks reddening. The remembrance of it was altogether not satisfactory – she felt there was much she had missed and overlooked – and yet some details were engrained too sharply, too distinctly, in her mind. She could not remove the sense that she had not said that which should have been said; and that the things which she had said, had been wanting; that in some way she had made herself appear foolish, that Mr. Crawford's warmth had been mistaken, had in actuality been pity, or disdain, or mockery – all this round and round in her head, till she was fairly dizzy with it.
The book he had given her, she had not yet touched – though she had most carefully examined its cover and spine, it gave no clue as to what was contained inside, nor any chance to determine if its contents might disappoint her – namely, because she could not determine what she wished its contents to be in the first place.
These were all things which Mary might have discussed with Georgiana, if she could at all articulate the nature of that which hung so heavily and restlessly upon her soul – but indeed, she could not; her penchant for rationality was here disappointed, for she could not place it into words, nor into clear explication, even to herself. Perhaps, if Georgiana would have herself brought it into their discourse, it would have all come tumbling out in an uncontained fount of thoughts, senses, and sensibilities; and sometimes Mary almost wished she would; but at other times, she was most relieved that Georgiana was too timid for the broaching of such subjects, and that, moreover, she was likely oblivious to Mary's turmoil.
" 'Because the removal of uneasiness is the first step to happiness,' " she now read out to herself softly.
"I should not think one needs to be a great philosopher in order to have discerned that."
Mary glanced up quickly to see Lizzy standing before her, entering unnoticed while she had been lost in contemplation.
"I am making extracts," Mary said hastily, picking up her pen once more.
Lizzy sat down in an armchair across from her. "I will allow that it is not so somber as some of your others are wont to be."
"Locke," Mary said absently, as she finished setting it down. When she looked up once more, it was to find her sister studying her intently. "He says that desire is the uneasiness caused by want of some absent good."
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Pomp and Circumstance: A Pride and Prejudice Continuation
Fanfiction"In the character of Mary Bennet there existed a profound irony which was as follows: the only quality that saved her from being wholly ordinary was the extraordinary degree of ordinariness which she possessed." A Mary Bennet romance and Pride and P...
