Chapter 10

THE day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and, in the evening, Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. The loo table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter, and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.

The day passed much like the day before. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley spent some hours that morning with the patient, who continued to recover, though slowly. In the evening, Elizabeth joined the group in the drawing room. This time, however, there was no table set up for loo. Mr. Darcy was writing a letter. Miss Bingley sat nearby, watching his progress and repeatedly interrupting him with messages for his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were playing piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was watching their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady either on his hand-writing, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in unison with her opinion of each.

Elizabeth picked up some needlework and was quite amused as she listened to Darcy and his companion. The lady constantly praised his handwriting, the evenness of his lines, or the length of his letter. Darcy received her praise with complete indifference. Together, her compliments and his indifference made an odd exchange, exactly matching Elizabeth’s opinion of them both.

“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

“Miss Darcy will be so delighted to get a letter like that!”

He made no answer.

He did not answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You write unusually fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“You’re mistaken. I write fairly slowly.”

“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!”

“You must have to write so many letters every year! Business letters, too! How I would hate writing them!”

“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.”

“Then it’s lucky they fall to me instead of you.”

“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”

“Please tell your sister that I really want to see her.”

“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”

“I’ve already told her that once, as you asked.”

“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

“I’m afraid you don’t like your pen. Let me fix it for you. I’m remarkably good at fixing pens.”

“Thank you—but I always mend my own.”

“Thank you, but I always fix my own.”

“How can you contrive to write so even?”

“How do you manage to write so evenly?”

He was silent.

He said nothing.

“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.”

“Tell your sister I’m delighted to hear she’s improving on the harp. And please tell her I’m absolutely thrilled with her beautiful little design for a table. I think her design is infinitely better than Miss Grantley’s.”

“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice.”

“May I save your enthusiastic praise for my next letter? Right now, I don’t have enough space to do it 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?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll see her in January. But do you always write such charming, long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”

“They are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.”

“They’re usually long. But whether they’re always charming isn’t for me to say.”

“It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write ill.”

“My rule is that anyone who can easily write a long letter cannot be a bad writer.”

“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?”

“That’s no compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” her brother exclaimed, “because he does not write easily. He spends too much time searching for four-syllable words. Don’t you, Darcy?”

“My style of writing is very different from yours.”

“My writing style 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.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Miss Bingley, “Charles writes as carelessly as you can imagine. He leaves out half his words and smudges 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.”

“My ideas come so quickly that I don’t have time to put them into words. So sometimes my letters convey no ideas at all to the people I write to.”

“Your humility, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, “must disarm reproof.”

“Your modesty, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, “must make it impossible to criticize you.”

“Nothing is more deceitful,” said Darcy, “than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”

“Nothing is more misleading,” said Darcy, “than seeming humble. Often, this apparent humility is just a lack of concern about opinions. Sometimes, it is a roundabout way of boasting.”

“And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?”

“And which of the two are you calling my recent little act of modesty?”

“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 anyone else?”

“An indirect boast. You’re actually proud of the faults in your writing because you think they come from quick thinking and careless execution. You think those qualities, if not admirable, are at least highly interesting. People always prize their own ability to do things quickly, often without considering how poorly they do them. This morning, you told Mrs. Bennet that if you ever decided to leave Netherfield, you’d be gone in five minutes. You meant that as a kind of tribute, a compliment to yourself. Yet what is so praiseworthy about such haste? It must leave essential business unfinished and can offer no real benefit to you or anyone else.”

“Nay,” cried Bingley, “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.”

“No,” cried Bingley, “it’s too much to remember at night all the foolish things said in the morning. Yet I swear I believed what I said about myself was true, and I still believe it now. So at least I wasn’t pretending to be needlessly hasty just to show off in front of the ladies.”

“I daresay you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. 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.”

“I’m sure you believed it. But I’m not at all convinced you would leave so quickly. Your actions would depend just as much on chance as those of any man I know. Suppose, as you were getting on your horse, a friend said, ‘Bingley, you’d better stay until next week.’ You would probably stay. You would probably not leave. And with another word from your friend, you might stay a month.”

“You have only proved by this,” cried Elizabeth, “that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself.”

“You’ve only proved,” Elizabeth exclaimed, “that Mr. Bingley didn’t give himself enough credit for his character. You’ve now made him look much better than he made himself look.”

“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.”

“I’m very pleased,” said Bingley, “that you’ve turned my friend’s words into a compliment about my good nature. But I’m afraid you’ve given his words a meaning he never intended. For he would certainly think better of me if, in those circumstances, I refused outright and rode 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?”

“Would Mr. Darcy then think your stubbornness in sticking to your original plan made up for its recklessness?”

“Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter—Darcy must speak for himself.”

“Honestly, I can’t explain the matter exactly. Darcy must speak for himself.”

“You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. 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.”

“You expect me to explain opinions you choose to call mine, though I have never said I hold them. However, let us accept your version of the situation, Miss Bennet. You must remember that the friend supposedly wants him to return to the house and delay his plans. That friend has merely asked him to do so, without giving a single reason why he should.”

“To yield readily—easily—to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you.”

“Giving in readily and easily to a friend’s persuasion is no virtue in your eyes.”

“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either.”

“Giving in without being convinced does no credit to either person’s intelligence.”

“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. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. 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?”

“You seem to me, Mr. Darcy, to make no allowance for the influence of friendship and affection. Affection for someone would often make us readily agree to their request, without needing arguments to persuade us. I am not speaking specifically of the situation you have imagined involving Mr. Bingley. Perhaps we may as well wait until that situation arises before discussing whether he acts wisely. But consider ordinary cases between friends, when one asks the other to change a decision of no great importance. Would you think badly of someone for agreeing to a friend’s wishes without waiting to be persuaded by arguments?”

“Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, 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?”

“Before we discuss this further, shouldn't we agree more precisely on how much importance to give this request? And shouldn't we also clarify how close the people involved are?”

“By all means,” cried 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. I declare I do not know a more awful 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.”

“Absolutely,” cried Bingley. “Let us hear all the details, including how they compare in height and size. Those details will count for more in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may realize. I assure you, if Darcy were not so much taller and bigger than me, I would show him half the respect. I declare, I know no one more intimidating than Darcy on certain occasions and in certain places. Especially at his own house on a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do.”

Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense.

Mr. Darcy smiled, but Elizabeth thought she could tell he was somewhat offended, so she stopped herself from laughing. Miss Bingley strongly resented the insult to him and scolded her brother for talking such nonsense.

“I see your design, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike an argument, and want to silence this.”

“I see what you’re trying to do, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike arguments and want to end this one.”

“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.”

“Perhaps I do. Debates are too much like quarrels. If you and Miss Bennet will wait until I leave the room to continue yours, I’ll be very grateful. And then you can say whatever you like about me.”

“What you ask,” said Elizabeth, “is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”

“What you’re asking is no sacrifice for me,” said Elizabeth. “And Mr. Darcy would be much better off finishing his letter.”

Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.

Mr. Darcy took her advice and finished his letter.

When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the pianoforte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the way, which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived, she seated herself.

When that business was finished, he asked Miss Bingley and Elizabeth to treat them to some music. Miss Bingley eagerly went to the piano and politely asked Elizabeth to play first. Elizabeth declined just as politely, and more firmly, so Miss Bingley sat down to play.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister; and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music-books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man, and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last, that she drew his notice because there was something about her more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister. While they sang, Elizabeth turned the pages of some music books lying on the instrument. She could not help noticing how often Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She could hardly imagine that a man of such importance could admire her. Yet it seemed even stranger that he would look at her because he disliked her. At last, she could only conclude that something about her struck him as more wrong and objectionable than anything about anyone else present. This was, of course, according to his own ideas of right and wrong. The thought did not upset her. She liked him too little to care about his approval.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her,—

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley added variety with a lively Scotch tune. Soon afterward, Mr. Darcy approached Elizabeth and said to her:

“Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?”

“Don’t you feel a strong urge, Miss Bennet, to take this chance to dance a reel?”

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.

She smiled but said nothing. He asked the question again, a little surprised by her silence.

“Oh,” said she, “I heard you before; but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. 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.”

“Oh,” she said, “I heard you before, but I couldn’t decide right away how to answer. I know you wanted me to say ‘Yes,’ so you could enjoy looking down on my taste. But I always enjoy ruining those kinds of plans and denying people the chance to scorn me as they intended. So I’ve decided to tell you I don’t want to dance a reel at all. Now look down on me if you dare.”

“Indeed I do not dare.”

“I really don’t dare.”

Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody, and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed that, were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger.

Elizabeth had rather expected to offend him, so his graciousness amazed her. But her manner mixed sweetness with playful wit, making it difficult for her to offend anyone. And Darcy had never been so captivated by any woman as he was by her. He truly believed that, if not for her family’s lower social standing, he would be in some danger.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected, enough to be jealous; and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected, enough to feel jealous. She was very anxious for her dear friend Jane to recover. And her desire to get rid of Elizabeth added somewhat to her concern for Jane’s recovery.

She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.

She often tried to make Darcy dislike her guest by talking about their supposed marriage. As part of this, she planned out how happy such a match would make him.

“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, to 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.”

“I hope,” she said as they walked together among the shrubs the next day, “you will give your mother-in-law a few hints when this desirable event takes place. Suggest the advantages of keeping her mouth shut. And if you can manage it, stop the younger girls from chasing after the officers. And if I may mention such a delicate subject, try to curb that little streak in your lady. It borders on vanity and rudeness.”

“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?”

“Do you have any other suggestions for making my home life happy?”

“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?”

“Oh yes. Do put portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They’re in the same profession, you know, just in different branches. As for your Elizabeth’s portrait, you must not try to have one painted. After all, 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 eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”

“It certainly wouldn’t be easy to capture the eyes’ expression. But their colour and shape, and the remarkably fine eyelashes, might be copied.”

At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself.

At that moment, they met Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself, who were coming from another path.

“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.

“I didn’t know you planned to walk,” said Miss Bingley, flustered because she feared they had been overheard.

“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away without telling us that you were coming out.”

“You treated us terribly,” replied Mrs. Hurst. “You ran off without telling us you were going outside.”

Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness, and immediately said,—

Then she took Mr. Darcy’s free arm, leaving Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path was just wide enough for three. Mr. Darcy recognized their rudeness and immediately said:

“This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”

“This path isn’t wide enough for our group. We’d better move to the tree-lined avenue.”

But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them, laughingly answered,—

But Elizabeth had no desire at all to stay with them. She laughed as she replied:

“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.”

“No, no, stay where you are. You make a charming group, and you look especially good together. Adding a fourth person would spoil the picture. Goodbye.”

She then ran gaily off, rejoicing, as she rambled about, in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.

She then ran happily off. As she wandered about, she delighted in the hope of being home again in a day or two. Jane had already recovered enough to plan on leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.