Mr Bennet was painting the window frames of 3 Island Street a cornflower blue selected by Jane, as she felt it reflected the colour of her dear Bingley’s eyes, when Darcy, of all people, came by and asked if he might have a word. On hearing this request from such a formidable young man, Mr Bennet felt much surprised but obliged to obey. The house being busy with female activity, the two went over to a quiet spot on the quayside, where they might have been observed in various attitudes of awkwardness and surprise, concluding in happy agreement as hands were shaken.
“Lizzy! Lizzy!” Mr Bennet called on his return. “Darcy astonishes me! You astonish me! I know you think him a proud, objectionable man whom you have always hated. But if you love him, too, then who am I to object to your going out with him? He scares the living daylights out of me, but I suppose it is jolly decent of him to ask permission in this day and age. He is markedly old-fashioned.”
“I do love him, Father!” said Lizzy, smiling and crying all at once.
“Well, that’s a good thing, because I am in no doubt about the violence of his affections! Here, take this and go and buy yourself and your young man a bottle of Moët et Chandon. It’s the least I can do!”
Mrs Bennet, who had been eavesdropping on the news, rushed out of the house, screaming to tell anyone who would listen, always declaring how she had been most fond of Darcy darling!