Later that evening, during dinner with the family, Mr Collins attempted to regain his dignity and personal sense of importance. He began by directing his first remarks in a suitably formal manner to Mr Bennet.
“Mr Bennet, I do not presume to come to this thy table trusting in my own righteousness but in thy manifold…”
“Oh, there is no need for that!” interjected Mrs Bennet, not quite following Mr Collins’s train of thought but feeling he was unnecessarily apologising for something.
“My dear, you have interrupted an important speech!” chided Mr Bennet, much amused. “Mr Collins, pray do go on.”
“Thy manifold… er… great and many, many manifolds… and… oh mercy!”
Mr Collins had little idea of what he was going to say in the first place and had launched out by using familiar words which now he started to feel were out of context. He was sure he had heard them somewhere before. Whilst he was pondering this, a silence fell over the table, broken only by a sudden exclamation from Lydia.
“Oh, Lor! There seem to be some crumbs under the table. Gather them up, Kitty!”
Girlish laughter spilled over, and Mr Collins, confused and perplexed, felt the moment had come to redirect the conversation to a subject of which he was certain of his expertise. With this in mind and to the delight of Mr Bennet, Mr Collins talked with great eloquence, longevity, and deference about his patron, Lady Catherine de Brrr, her admirable condescension, and her daughter, who by not being presented at Court, had deprived Britain of its brightest ornament.