He never speaks much unless amongst his intimate
acquaintance...
but...Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself
without any disguise.
On the following day, since Bingley and Darcy were to dine with the officers of the regiment, Caroline Bingley sent a note by a servant to Longbourn, to invite Miss Jane Bennet to join the two sisters for dinner that evening.
When the gentlemen returned, it was raining, and they were greeted with the news that Miss Bennet had indeed travelled to Netherfield, but on horseback. The consequence of her not travelling in her father’s carriage meant that she was to remain overnight. The next morning it soon became clear that her damp journey had resulted in Miss Bennet catching a chill, with a sore throat.
Bingley and his sisters would not hear of her returning home until she was better, so a note was sent to tell Miss Elizabeth Bennet that Mr. Jones the apothecary had been called, although there was no cause for alarm. When Darcy looked out of the window a few hours later, it was with some considerable surprise that he saw that same lady trudging across the lawns in front of Netherfield House.
When she was shown into the breakfast parlour, where Bingley and the others were all seated, it was clear from the state of her skirts that she must have walked all the 3 miles from Longbourn. When this was questioned by Miss Bingley, Miss Elizabeth Bennet explained that she was no horsewoman and enjoyed walking. She asked anxiously to be taken immediately to see her sister.
As she left the room, Darcy could not help but note that her face was glowing with the warmth of the exercise, although he doubted whether she should have come so far alone. Two of those present had less charitable matters on their mind. That she should have walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and they commented upon it at length. Darcy did not support their criticisms, and Mr. Hurst said nothing at all, since he was thinking only of his breakfast.
It soon became clear that Miss Bennet had not slept well, being very feverish and not well enough to leave her room. When breakfast was over, the apothecary came and, having examined his patient, said that she had caught a violent cold, and advised her to return to bed, promising to provide some draughts. The advice was followed readily, since her feverish symptoms had apparently increased, together with a headache.
That morning, Darcy and Bingley went out to shoot with Mr. Hurst and, when they returned, found that Miss Bingley had offered Miss Elizabeth Bennet the carriage for her return journey. However, her elder sister had been so concerned at her leaving that the offer had to be converted into an invitation for her to remain at Netherfield for the present.
Darcy was not unhappy that this offer was accepted, and in due course to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet summoned to dinner. To the enquiries that were made, she could not respond with a very favourable answer and, after dinner, she returned directly to her sister’s room.
Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was gone. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and added,
“She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild.”
“She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!”
“Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it, not doing its office.”
“Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,” said Bingley; who had been listening to this conversation with little enthusiasm, “but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.”
“You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley, “and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.”
“Certainly not.”
“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country town indifference to decorum.”
“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Bingley.
“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,” observed Miss Bingley, in a half whisper, “that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”
He was not inclined to indulge her, and replied, “Not at all, they were brightened by the exercise.”
A short pause followed this. Then Mrs. Hurst began again.
“I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”
“I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton.”
“Yes, and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.”
“That is capital,” added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.
“If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,” said Bingley, mindful that their own father had made his fortune from trade, “it would not make them one jot less agreeable.”
“But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,” replied Darcy, who had found by experience that his friend did not always by any means share his concern for the niceties of social standing and consequence.
Bingley did not reply, but his sisters gave this view their hearty assent, and they went on to indulge their mirth for some time at the expense of Miss Bennet’s vulgar relations.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet would not quit her sister till late in the evening. When she entered the drawing-room, the whole party was at loo, and she was immediately invited to join them. Making her sister the excuse, she said that she would amuse herself with a book for the short time she could stay below. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.
“Do you prefer reading to cards?” said he; “that is rather singular.”
Miss Bingley could not resist making a point from this.
“Miss Eliza Bennet despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.”
The object of her scorn looked surprised at this attack, but replied quietly, “I deserve neither such praise nor such censure. I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”
This seemed a satisfactory answer to Darcy, and his friend’s comments were to the same effect.
“In nursing your sister, I am sure you will have pleasure, and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.”
Miss Bennet thanked him, and then walked towards a table where a few books were lying. Bingley immediately offered to fetch her others from his library, but she assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the room.
“I am astonished,” said Miss Bingley, “that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!”
“It ought to be good,” he replied, “it has been the work of many generations.”
“And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books.”
He was not sure that this was a commendation, but replied, “I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these.”
“Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.”
“I wish it may,” her brother replied.
“But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire.”
“With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it.”
“I am talking of possibilities, Charles.”
“Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation.”
Darcy then saw that Miss Elizabeth Bennet laid her book aside. She moved to stand near the card-table between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister to observe the game.
“Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?” said Miss Bingley; “will she be as tall as I am?”
Darcy looked at her for a moment, and then turned to her guest as he said, “I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.”
“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is exquisite.”
“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished, as they all are.”
“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?” said his sister.
“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses.
I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”
“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”
“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley, quick to agree with him.
“Then,” observed Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Darcy, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.” She half smiled at him as she spoke, and Darcy was tempted to do so in kind, as he said, “Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.”
“Oh! certainly,” cried Miss Bingley to Darcy, not wishing to be overlooked, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with.”
Since he said nothing, she went on, “A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”
“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, addressing Miss Bennet, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”
“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any,” said Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy was not sure whether she doubted the idea, or his own opinion.
“Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?”
“I never saw such a woman,” Miss Bennet replied, “I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united.”
Both Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley protested at this, saying that they knew many women who answered this description. But Mr. Hurst then called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention.
It was with regret that Darcy saw Miss Bennet soon afterwards leave the room.
“Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, “is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex, by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds.”
She looked to the others for a reaction, but in vain, so she went on, “But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, “there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.”
As he had intended, Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with his reply as to continue the subject.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr. Jones’s being sent for immediately; while his sisters recommended that an express be sent for one of the most eminent physicians from town. This, she did not agree to, but it was settled that Mr. Jones should be sent for early in the morning, if Miss Bennet were not decidedly better.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the morning was able to send a better answer to the enquiries that she very early received from Bingley, but requested to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit her sister, and form her own judgement of her situation.
Although this was not a prospect that Darcy, or Bingley’s sisters, viewed with any enthusiasm, the note was immediately dispatched, and its contents as quickly complied with, and Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her youngest daughters, Catherine and Lydia, reached Netherfield soon after breakfast.
On being satisfied on seeing her that her eldest daughter’s illness was not alarming, she would not listen to her being moved home; neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think it at all advisable. After sitting a little while with her daughter, on Miss Bingley’s appearance and invitation, the mother and three younger daughters all attended their hostess into the breakfast parlour, where they found Darcy with his friend.
Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Jane worse than she expected.
“Indeed, Sir, she is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”
“Removed!” cried Bingley. “It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal.”
“You may depend upon it, Madam,” said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, “that Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us.”
Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgements. “I am sure,” she added, “if it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I hope, though you have but a short lease.”
“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” replied he; “and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.”
“That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,” said Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy, who had been looking out of the window hoping that Mrs. Bennet’s stay would be curtailed, turned to look with more interest at what was being said on hearing her daughter’s voice.
“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” replied Bingley.
“Oh! yes—I understand you perfectly.”
“I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful.”
“That is as it happens,” said Miss Elizabeth, “it does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.”
“Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”
“I did not know before,” continued Bingley immediately to her daughter, “that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”
“Yes; but intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage.”
“The country,” said Darcy, in a bid to gain her attention, “can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”
Miss Elizabeth did not dissent to that, and added, “But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever.”
To Darcy’s regret, they were then interrupted.
“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs. Bennet, looking most offended, “I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in town.”
Darcy, after looking at her for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had triumphed over him, persisted.
“I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is not it, Mr. Bingley?”
“When I am in the country,” he replied, “I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.”
“Aye—that is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,” said Mrs. Bennet, looking straight at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”
“Indeed, Mama, you are mistaken,” said Miss Elizabeth Bennet, blushing for her mother. “You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there were not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in town, which you must acknowledge to be true.”
“Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four and twenty families.”
Darcy observed that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother’s thoughts, now asked Mrs. Bennet if her friend Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since her coming away.
“Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley—is not he? so much the man of fashion! So genteel and so easy! He has always something to say to every body. That is my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very important and,” looking at Darcy as she spoke, “never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter.”
“Did Charlotte dine with you?” asked Miss Elizabeth.
“No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work; my daughters are brought up differently. But every body is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain—but then she is our particular friend.”
“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” said Bingley.
“Oh! dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what every body says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner’s in town, so much in love with her, that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But however he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.”
“And so ended his affection,” said Miss Elizabeth scornfully. “There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”
Darcy was surprised at this answer and decided to venture a reply.
“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said he.
“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Every thing nourishes what is strong already.” Miss Elizabeth paused, but then in her lively way added, “But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”
Darcy smiled at this; but said nothing. A general pause ensued, until Mrs. Bennet repeated her thanks to Bingley for his kindness to her eldest daughter, with an apology for troubling him also with her sister, and soon afterwards ordered her carriage.
At this, her youngest daughter, Lydia, a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, taxed Bingley with having promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield, adding that it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it.
His answer to this sudden attack was more civil than Darcy thought that it deserved, contrasting her very forward style of address with that of his sister. However, Bingley as ever refused to be affronted.
“I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and when your sister is recovered, you shall if you please name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill.”
“Oh! yes it would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball,” she added, “I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not.”
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet returned instantly to her sister, leaving her own and her relations’ behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies.
Darcy, however, could not be prevailed on to join in their censure of her, in spite of all Miss Bingley’s witticisms on fine eyes.
The next day, the invalid kept to her bed but continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Miss Elizabeth Bennet joined the party in the drawing-room.
Darcy was writing, and thus continued, although he was very aware of her entering the room, and taking up some needlework.
Mr. Hurst and Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game. Miss Bingley, seated nearer to Darcy, had been watching the progress of his letter, and repeatedly disturbed him by calling his attention to her messages to his sister.
The perpetual commendations of the lady either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, formed a conversation that increasingly began to irritate Darcy.
“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”
He made no answer.
“You write uncommonly fast.”
He wrote two more lines before replying, “You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year! Letters of business too! How odious I should think them!”
Again he continued writing for some time before saying, “It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.”
He hoped that she would then desist, but it was not to be.
“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
He looked back at what he had already penned, and then said sharply, “I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
A few welcome minutes of silence then ensued. He even had some hopes that he might be able to finish the letter uninterrupted, and he paused, considering the last few sentences he had written. But Caroline Bingley’s voice was then again heard addressing him.
“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you.”
When he did not reply, she tried again.
“I mend pens remarkably well.”
“Thank you—but I always mend my own.”
“How can you contrive to write so even?”
He was silent.
“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”
By this time, Darcy’s temper was rising, and it was with difficulty that he remained civil, especially as he would much rather be conversing with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice.”
“Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”
He began to wonder if there were any means by which Miss Bingley could be silenced.
“They are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.”
“It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter, with ease, cannot write ill,” she said.
“That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” cried her brother, “because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?”
Darcy was relieved at another person joining in the conversation, and said, more cheerfully, “My style of writing is very different from yours.”
“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.”
“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents,” said her brother.
At this point, an interruption very welcome to Darcy was made, as Miss Elizabeth Bennet said, “Your humility, Mr. Bingley, must disarm reproof.”
“Nothing is more deceitful,” said Darcy, with the intention of provoking her, rather than his friend, to say more, “than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”
He was unsuccessful, for it was Bingley who said, “And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?”
With Miss Bennet’s attention still engaged, Darcy was ready for a debate.
“The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or any one else?”
After this, Darcy thought it certain that Miss Bennet’s lively mind would join her into the conversation. But Bingley was too quick.
“Nay,” he cried, “this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies.”
“I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity,” said Darcy. “Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, ‘Bingley, you had better stay till next week,’ you would probably do it, you would probably not go and, at another word, might stay a month.”
At last, this provoked Miss Elizabeth Bennet to join in the conversation.
“You have only proved by this, that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself.”
“I am exceedingly gratified,” said Bingley, “by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think the better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could.”
“Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?” Miss Bennet said to him.
“Upon my word I cannot exactly explain the matter, Darcy must speak for himself.”
“You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged,” said Darcy. “Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety.”
“To yield readily—easily—to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you.” She looked at Darcy thoughtfully.
“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either,” he replied to her.
“You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley.”
She paused as though to consider the matter further, and then went on, “We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon.”
He was about to reply, but then she turned to him with renewed inspiration.
“But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?”
“Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject,” said Darcy, “to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?”
“By all means,” interrupted Bingley; “let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference.”
Darcy was amused and was ready to respond with some humour. However, Bingley forestalled him.
“I declare, Miss Elizabeth, I do not know a more aweful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.”
Darcy knew himself to be looking affronted at this, and smiled rather wanly.
Miss Bingley intervened to join the conversation, in an expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense.
“I see your design, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike an argument, and want to silence this.”
“Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.”
“What you ask,” said Miss Elizabeth Bennet, “is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”
Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.
With that over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Miss Elizabeth Bennet for the indulgence of some music.
Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the piano-forte, and after a polite request that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would lead the way, which the other as politely and more earnestly resisted, she seated herself and sang with Mrs. Hurst.
Whilst they were thus employed, Darcy regarded Miss Elizabeth Bennet with a steady gaze.
Once or twice she looked up and caught his expression, and as quickly looked away again as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument. As the music continued, he was taken with what for him was a novel and irrational thought. He almost wished, yes indeed he did wish, to take a turn around the floor with her.
As though aware of his thoughts, after finishing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley changed the style of her music, and began to play a Scottish air.
Emboldened by this happy coincidence, Darcy said, “Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?”
She made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.
“Oh!” said she, “I heard you before; but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply.”
She gave him again that lively smile as she went on, “You wanted me, I know, to say ‘Yes,’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all and now despise me if you dare.”
He replied civilly, although he was disappointed out of proportion to the request.
“Indeed,” said Darcy, “I do not dare.”
Yet he did not resent the answer as he might have done, for there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner that made it difficult for her to affront him. Had Darcy been able to consider the matter dispassionately, he would have realised that he had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. But for the inferiority of her connections, he was of the opinion that he should be in some danger.
Miss Bingley was not unaware of Darcy’s interest in her guest. She was not of a disposition to overlook such a slight, and frequently sought to provoke Darcy by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.
“I hope,” said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the next day, “you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses.”
Darcy was not one to allow himself to be upset unless he particularly valued the opinion of the speaker. He took this attempt to challenge him calmly, as he did Miss Bingley’s next comment that Mrs. Bennet was a woman of mean understanding and uncertain temper, who might prove less than a worthy addition to his acquaintance.
“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?” he said.
“Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know; only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”
“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eye-lashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”
At that moment they were met from another walk, by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself.
“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “in running away without telling us that you were coming out.”
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Miss Elizabeth to walk by herself, as the path just admitted three.
Darcy resented this affront on her behalf and, not wishing to lose her company, said, “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”
And he waited for Miss Bennet to join them.
But she answered, with a smile,
“No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good bye.”
Contrary to Darcy’s preference, she then went off, and he was left to wish that he had different company from Miss Bingley, whose wit was so repetitive and often seemed to be at his own expense.
Miss Jane Bennet was already recovered enough to leave her room for a couple of hours that evening after dinner. Her sister attended her, well guarded from cold, into the drawing-room.
When the gentlemen entered, Darcy addressed himself directly to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and Bingley sat down by her.
Darcy, preferring the chance of conversation with Miss Elizabeth Bennet to playing with cards, had declined to join Mr. Hurst in his favourite pastime. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep.
Darcy took up a book, and so Miss Bingley did the same. Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother’s conversation with Miss Bennet.
Miss Bingley gave as much attention to watching Mr. Darcy’s progress through his book as to reading her own; and she was perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. He, however, had no intention of being persuaded into any conversation with her, and so limited himself to answering her questions, and then read on.
At length, she gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”
Darcy reflected to himself that she would not be an easy companion to any man, and no one made any reply.
She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest of some amusement. When her brother mentioned a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said, “By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party.”
Looking at his friend, she said, “I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”
“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins, but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards.”
“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied, “if they carried on in a different manner; but there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the day.”
If she had hoped to persuade Darcy to join in the conversation, she was not successful. Instead, her brother persisted.
“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball.”
Miss Bingley made no answer; and soon afterwards got up and walked about the room. Darcy continued his attention to his book.
After a while, she remarked, “Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.”
Darcy, looking up immediately, was awake to the novelty of attention for Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Caroline Bingley, and closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but declined, observing that he could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which his joining them would interfere.
“What could he mean?” said Caroline Bingley, and she asked Miss Elizabeth Bennet whether she could at all understand him.
“Not at all,” was her answer; “but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him, will be to ask nothing about it.”
She looked at Darcy as she spoke, and he thought that there was more than a hint of humour in her eyes.
Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two motives.
Had Caroline Bingley been alone, Darcy might not have pursued the matter. Since, however, Miss Bennet was involved in the matter, Darcy was only too happy to promote the conversation.
“I have not the smallest objection to explaining them. You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other’s confidence and have secret affairs to discuss.”
Darcy paused, for this seemed to be less than likely, so he continued, “Or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking. If the first, I should be completely in your way; and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.”
“Oh! shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”
Darcy waited with expectation for the reply to this, and was intrigued by the answer.
“Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,” said Miss Elizabeth. “We can all plague and punish one another. Tease him, laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.”
“But upon my honour I do not,” said Caroline Bingley. “I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind! No, no, I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself.”
“Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Miss Elizabeth. “That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss to me to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh.”
Darcy was not very sure how to take this.
“Miss Bingley,” said he, “has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest and the best of men, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.”
“Certainly,” replied Miss Bennet, “there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without.”
Darcy regarded her with more appearance of calm than he felt.
“Perhaps that is not possible for any one. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”
She regarded him for a moment and then said, “Such as vanity and pride?”
“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.”
Miss Bennet turned away, as if to hide a smile.
“Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss Bingley; “and pray what is the result?”
“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “He owns it himself without disguise.”
“No,” said Darcy, rather vexed, “I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding.”
He stopped then, intending to say no more, but his irritation was too much for that to be enough.
“My temper I dare not vouch for. It is I believe too little yielding, certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them.”
Then, thinking of his inability to possess Bingley’s ease of address in company, and striving to be honest with her without regard to the disbenefit to himself, he added, “My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost for ever.”
“That is a failing indeed!” said Miss Bennet. “Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me.”
Darcy, realising his error, then sought to excuse himself.
“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.”
If he had known her better, he might have expected that she would not let that rest.
“And your defect is a propensity to hate every body.”
“And yours,” he replied with a slow smile, “is wilfully to misunderstand them.”
“Do let us have a little music,” cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share, and clearly dissatisfied at being so long overlooked.
“Louisa, you will not mind my walking Mr. Hurst.” Her sister made no objection, and the piano-forte was opened.
Darcy, after a few moments’ recollection, was not sorry for it, since Miss Bingley’s resentment at any attention being paid to Miss Elizabeth Bennet was clear. But he was aware that he was more than susceptible to her, especially when she adopted that teasing tone of address which could so beguile him.
When Miss Elizabeth Bennet wrote the next morning to her mother, to ask for the carriage to be sent from Longbourn in the course of the day, the reply came that they could not possibly have it before Tuesday; and that, if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. However, at length it was settled that they should stay till the following day. Bingley repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Jane Bennet that it would not be safe for her, that she was not enough recovered; but she was firm in accepting the use of his carriage for the next morning.
Darcy was in two minds about this news.
On the one hand, it was welcome intelligence. Elizabeth Bennet would have been at Netherfield for four days. That, for the safety of his heart, was more than long enough, as she attracted him much more than was desirable. In addition, Miss Bingley delighted in being uncivil to her, and more teasing than usual to himself.
On the other hand, he felt more strongly towards her than for any woman before, and he could not keep himself from her company while she was in the same house. But the inferiority of her connections made it impossible to contemplate any future in the relationship.
He therefore resolved that he must not encourage her, and should be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him until she left Netherfield.
Steady to his purpose, Darcy managed to speak scarcely ten words to her through the whole of Saturday. On the following day, after morning service, the Misses Bennet returned to Longbourn.
It was at least a benefit that Caroline Bingley could no longer trouble him about his admiration of “those fine eyes.”
However, that night Darcy did not sleep well. Having resolved to remove the lady from his attention, he found that she persisted even more in his mind. Having decided by the small hours to remove himself from Netherfield at least for long enough to avoid the forthcoming ball, Darcy found himself agreeing at breakfast to be present, and even to assist in part of the discussion about the arrangements. Having concluded that it would be politic to support Miss Bingley when she criticised the deportment, appearance or behaviour of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he found himself doing exactly the opposite.
In short, he found himself unable to control his own free will for the first time in his life.
Two days later, Darcy rode into Meryton with Bingley. Proceeding up the street, he saw some of the Bennet sisters with a gentleman in clerical garb, talking to officers of the regiment quartered in the town. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was in an animated conversation with a tall officer whose figure seemed to be strangely familiar.
Bingley and Darcy, on distinguishing the ladies of the group, both rode towards them, and began the usual civilities. Bingley told Miss Bennet that he was on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her health. Darcy corroborated this with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Miss Elizabeth Bennet, when his glance was suddenly taken by the sight of the officer to whom she had been speaking—it was George Wickham.
The countenance of both changed colour as their eyes met. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat in a salutation which Darcy just deigned to return. In another minute Bingley, without seeming to have noticed what passed, took leave and Darcy was able to ride on with him, his mind in turmoil.
By what vicious stroke of fate was it that the man whom he detested and above all others wished to avoid should be in this part of Hertfordshire? He had thought at Ramsgate that he would never have to encounter Wickham again. And to see him talking to Miss Elizabeth Bennet! Of all the ladies of his acquaintance, why should she have to be in his company and subject to his attentions?
He made little conversation on the way back and, as he entered Netherfield with his friend, it occurred to Darcy that Bingley’s invitations to the officers of the regiment to attend the ball would be likely to include Wickham. There appeared to be no way in which his attendance could be avoided, and that was a most unhappy prospect.
The following day, Bingley took his sisters to Longbourn to invite the Bennet family to the ball. Darcy declined to go with them, seeking to avoid any further exposure to Mrs. Bennet.
Although he had not until now acknowledged it to himself, his disdain of dancing had been modified, as far as the forthcoming ball was concerned, by the prospect that he could persuade Miss Elizabeth Bennet to be his partner.
His reluctance at the Meryton assembly to accept Bingley’s suggestion to that effect, her refusal to accord with Sir William’s proposal at the Lucases, and her rejection of his invitation to dance a reel at Netherfield, were in his mind. It was unusual, to say the least, for Darcy to contemplate with pleasure the company of a lady in the dance. But so it was now.
Against that was now the possibility that she might again refuse him, and that there might be others, including a man whom he heartily disliked and mistrusted, who could also seek her hand for that purpose.
As the guests arrived on the day of the Netherfield ball, Darcy stood at the side of the room, a short distance from his hosts as they greeted the company on their arrival. The officers of the regiment arrived together, with Colonel Forster and his young wife. Darcy could not see Wickham amongst them, although he recognised Mr. Denny who had been at the encounter in Meryton a few days earlier.
Darcy had little interest in most of the other arrivals, although he noticed Sir William and Lady Lucas with their two eldest daughters. At last, the Bennet family arrived together, Miss Elizabeth Bennet in lively conversation with her father as they entered the house.
Darcy saw her then accompany her eldest sister into the drawing-room.
He took the opportunity to make a polite enquiry as to how she and her sister were, to which she replied with some civility. As he left her, he noted that she then looked around the room, as though searching for someone among the cluster of the officers in red coats there assembled. Darcy saw Miss Lydia Bennet walk across the room and approach Mr. Denny, who spoke to her and her sister Elizabeth, Denny looking towards Darcy as he did so.
Darcy’s reverie was then interrupted by the music starting up, Bingley taking the eldest Miss Bennet onto the floor, and her sister joining the dance with the clerical gentleman who had been with the Bennet family at Meryton. The latter soon proved to be no kind of dancer, often moving wrong without being aware of it. Miss Elizabeth Bennet appeared to be gracious in the face of these difficulties. Darcy was gratified to see that there was very little conversation between them during the two dances. When the music eventually came to an end, the lady appeared to leave the floor with some alacrity.
As he walked around the ballroom, Miss Bingley interrupted his perambulation to tell him that she had overheard one of the officers speaking to Miss Lydia Bennet. The officer had turned to look at Darcy, as he said that “Mr. Wick-ham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, although I do not imagine that his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.”
This intelligence pleased Darcy, since he had no wish to meet Wickham that evening, or indeed at all. But it also implied that all the old falsehoods about the dealings between them were being promoted again in Hertfordshire.
He walked on until he was within a few steps of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, resolving that he must seek his chance now, before her card was filled for the evening. However, for the moment, he was too late, for at that instant she took the floor with one of the officers. Darcy continued to pace around the room for the next half hour until, at last, the music ended, and she crossed the room to join Miss Charlotte Lucas in conversation.
Darcy quickly passed behind the company and, addressing her with few preliminaries, applied for her hand for the next two dances. Miss Bennet hesitated for what seemed to him a long moment. Then she accepted his offer without comment, and he turned away immediately, but with a feeling of satisfaction which he had rarely experienced.
When the dancing recommenced, Miss Lucas and Miss Bennet were deep in conversation as Darcy approached to claim her hand. Together, they took their places opposite each other in the set. He noticed that the nearest of the company seemed to be taking a lively interest in the rare spectacle of his taking to the floor.
As the first couples began the steps, they both stood silent, not speaking a word.
Then, it was their turn. When he took her hand for the first turn, Darcy found himself close to being overcome with feelings that were as powerful as they were novel. Her touch was firm, more steady and confident than that of many women, and her balance was sure as she turned away from him and then back, as the dance required.
He was so little inclined normally to speak whilst dancing that the absence of words to begin with did not bother him. After a few minutes, she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied briefly, and was again silent. It was enough for him for the moment to be where he was, and with her.
After a silence for some minutes, she addressed him a second time.
“It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”
This was very unlike the stilted conversation that Darcy was used to on such occasions and, despite himself, he smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.
She seemed encouraged by this, and said, “Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps bye and bye I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent.”
Her confidence commended itself to him.
“Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?”
“Sometimes,” she replied, “One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”
Again he found himself reflecting that the manner of her address was a refreshing change to that to which he was accustomed.
“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”
“Both,” replied Miss Bennet, “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds.”
She paused, as his heart warmed to the disclosure that she had given more than a little thought to the subject.
Then she went on to say, slowly, “We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb.”
He was not happy with this response.
“This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say.”
Then, although unaware that he disclosed some irritation at what might be a criticism of himself, he added, “You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.”
“I must not decide on my own performance.”
He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance.
Recalling how she had reached Netherfield when her sister was ill, and where they had last met, Darcy then asked her cautiously if she and her sisters very often walked the mile from Longbourn to Meryton.
“Yes,” she answered and added, “when you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”
He was immediately aware to whom she referred— Wickham!—and he was aware that the colour came into his face. But he did not reply immediately.
At length he said, in a constrained manner, “Mr. Wick-ham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.”
Darcy was not prepared for the firm reply, which seemed to be based on more than a limited acquaintance between Wickham and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship, and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”
This reply indicated some measure of intimacy between her and Wickham which concerned Darcy almost beyond reason.
But he made no answer. Indeed, he had none. If he had been feeling more rational, he might have been aware that he was blaming that gentleman for again coming into his life to damage something that mattered to him.
At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared, seeking to pass through the set to the other side of the room. Seeing them together, he stopped with a bow to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.
“I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, shall take place.”
At this point, Darcy saw that Sir William was looking at her sister, Jane Bennet, and Bingley. He was brought back to the present company by Sir William.
“What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy; but let me not interrupt you, Sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.”
Darcy’s attention to the latter part of this address was very limited, as Sir William’s allusion to his friend kept his thoughts with Bingley, who was dancing with the eldest Miss Bennet. A novel and unwelcome thought came into Darcy’s mind. Was that the general opinion, that his friend and Miss Jane Bennet...
However, he recollected himself, and turned to his partner, saying, “Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what we were talking of.”
She replied, rather sharply he thought, “I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two to three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”
With the dance soon to come to the end, he realised that his opportunity to speak to her again during the evening might be very limited, and he determined to change the subject to something more likely to produce a favourable reply.
Remembering that, like her father, she seemed to be fond of reading, Darcy tried again.
“What think you of books?” said he, smiling.
But she seemed determined not to be pleased.
“Books. Oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.”
He tried again, though disappointed at her reaction.
“I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.”
“No. I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.”
His confidence in receiving a more sympathetic response was fading.
“The present always occupies you in such scenes does it?” he said, doubtfully this time.
“Yes, always,” she replied.
There was silence between them for some time.
Then she suddenly exclaimed, “I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created.”
For several moments, he puzzled as to the reason that might be behind this question, but could not discern it, so he replied, more resolutely than he felt, “I am.”
“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”
He was genuinely surprised, for the idea had never occurred to him as a possibility.
“I hope not,” he replied.
There was a silence again, although more brief this time.
“It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.”
He reflected that it seemed like a query, rather than a statement.
“May I ask to what these questions tend?”
“Merely to the illustration of your character,” she said gravely. “I am trying to make it out.”
He took some comfort that this remark at least did not indicate any indifference to him and, emboldened, asked her, “And what is your success?”
She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”
For a moment, he was not at all sure how best to reply. She might, after all, have heard any manner of falsehoods about him from Wickham. With that in mind, he answered seriously.
“I can readily believe, that report may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.”
She looked at him almost anxiously as she said, “But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.”
What meaning this had was not clear to Darcy, and he said to her more coldly, “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.”
She said no more, and they went down the dance for the last time. At the end, they parted in silence.
Despite this unsatisfactory ending to the encounter, she had revealed some interest in his own person as to make Darcy not unhappy with her.
His anger was therefore directed solely towards a former acquaintance of his own. Darcy stood apart from the throng as they took the floor again, and regretted every unfortunate consequence of his family’s long acquaintance with George Wickham.
At last the time came for everyone to take refreshment. Darcy moved with the rest of the company to the dining room, where a choice of dishes was laid out on the tables.
It was in a disturbed frame of mind that Darcy took his seat at a table. He had scarcely begun to eat when he was accosted by the clerical gentleman who had seemed to be with the party from Longbourn. He was unable to conceal his astonishment as this person prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and introduced himself as the Bennets’ cousin, Mr. Collins, lately engaged by Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as the rector at Hunsford. He then went on, at length, to express his good fortune at obtaining that position, and the consequent opportunity to meet his patron so regularly in the course of his duties.
By this time, Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained wonder. When at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak, he replied with an air of distant civility, saying only that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine’s discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily.
Mr. Collins, however, was not to be discouraged.
Instead, he carried on speaking again, although mostly by repetition of what he had already expounded. Finally, Darcy mustered a slight bow, and was able to move away to fetch a glass of wine.
When he returned to his place, he was not pleased to find that Mrs. Bennet had taken her seat opposite him with Lady Lucas, with whom she was talking loudly. More welcome was the realisation that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was sitting at the same table, although also opposite himself and much too far away for him to make any conversation.
He was unable to avoid hearing the exchange between Mrs. Bennet and Lady Lucas, and paid that more attention, as the former seemed to be talking of nothing but her expectation that Miss Jane Bennet would be soon married to Bingley. She seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match, his wealth and the benefits to her, as the marriage must throw her younger daughters in the way of other rich men.
Darcy soon became acutely aware of Miss Elizabeth’s embarrassment and endeavours to put a stop to her mother’s words, or to persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible manner.
Mrs. Bennet, however, scolded her for being nonsensical, saying loudly enough for Darcy to hear, “What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear.”
“For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower,” he heard Miss Elizabeth Bennet say. “What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing.”
This had no effect, Mrs. Bennet continuing in the same vein.
Darcy tried when he could to look elsewhere, for he was aware of the daughter glancing towards him when she thought that she was not observed, but he missed very little of what was being said to Lady Lucas. Everything that he heard confirmed his previous view that Mrs. Bennet was vulgar, thoughtless, ill-mannered and the last person in the world whom Bingley should desire as a mother-in-law.
In that, Darcy reflected, he profoundly shared Miss Bingley’s opinion. And Mrs. Bennet’s younger daughters appeared to possess little sense, and even less decorum in company, and few accomplishments of which they might be proud. Indeed, they were a very unhappy contrast to the modest demeanour of his sister Georgiana and the talents of other ladies of his acquaintance.
At last Mrs. Bennet had no more to say, but the respite for Darcy was short.
As supper was now over, Bingley invited those prepared to oblige the company to sing. Before others had the opportunity, Miss Mary Bennet accepted this invitation with alacrity. The performance was to Darcy no comparison to that of Miss Elizabeth, whom he had heard playing at previous gatherings in Meryton. At last, the young lady was prevailed upon by her father, in a manner that reminded Darcy a little of his second daughter, to give way.
At this moment, the voice of the rector of Hunsford, Mr. Collins, was again heard.
“If I,” said Mr. Collins, “were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean however to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards every body, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family.”
And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room.
Mr. Bennet looked amused, but his wife commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man. Darcy said nothing, but he had no difficulty in taking a different view.
At that moment, Miss Bingley appeared by Darcy’s side.
“I have been having a fascinating conversation with a lady whom I know you favour. It seems that she is so persuaded of the attractions of a certain Mr. Wickham that she does not wish to listen to well-intentioned advice from someone as independent of the matter as myself. They would make a pretty pair, would they not, Mr. Darcy, she and Mr. Wickham? Indeed, you must agree that they seem to be made for each other.”
These remarks put Darcy into such a bad humour that for once he was glad of an intervention from Sir William, who at that moment came up to compliment Bingley and his sister on the excellence of their arrangements for the ball.
The remainder of the evening passed with little incident, and nothing to please Darcy. He had some conversation with Mr. Bennet about the library at Pemberley, which the latter gentleman had heard was very fine. Darcy noticed that Mr. Bennet came alive when in discourse on the subject of reading and books, and their conversation at least passed some minutes of the evening. A few comments that Mr. Bennet let slip indicated that he regarded Mr. Collins, on whom the estate at Longbourn was apparently entailed after his death, as a source of considerable amusement, and not as a man of any great intelligence or good sense. This was not a view with which it was difficult for Darcy to concur.
The clergyman appeared to be exceptionally attentive to Miss Elizabeth, who danced no more and sat out at the side of the room. That they were joined by Miss Charlotte Lucas, Darcy noticed, seemed to be very welcome to her friend.
Darcy could find nothing other to do than to spend the remainder of the evening standing within a very short distance of them, having no interest in dancing with anyone else in the room. Meanwhile, Bingley continued his attentions to the eldest Miss Bennet.
On the following day, Darcy knew, Bingley was due to travel to town on business. He resolved to have a serious talk with his friend’s sisters in his absence. The situation between Bingley and Miss Bennet had clearly developed much further than he had anticipated, and something needed to be done.