Chapter 18

TILL Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alarmed her. She had dressed with more than usual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more than might be won in the course of the evening. But in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted, for Mr. Darcy’s pleasure, in the Bingleys’ invitation to the officers; and though this was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile,—

Until Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, she had never doubted that Mr. Wickham would be there. She looked for him in vain among the officers gathered in their red coats. Nothing she remembered had shaken her certainty of meeting him, though some memories might reasonably have worried her. She had dressed with more care than usual and arrived in high spirits. She was ready to conquer whatever part of his heart remained unconquered. She trusted that she could win that much during the evening. But suddenly she had a dreadful suspicion. Perhaps the Bingleys had deliberately left him out of their invitation to the officers to please Mr. Darcy. Though that was not exactly what had happened, his friend Mr. Denny confirmed that Wickham was absent. Lydia eagerly questioned Mr. Denny. He told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before. Wickham had not yet returned, he explained, adding with a knowing smile:

“I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

“I don't think his work would have taken him away right now if he hadn't wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught by Elizabeth; and, as it assured her that Darcy was not less answerable for Wickham’s absence than if her first surmise had been just, every feeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make. Attention, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to Wickham. She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and turned away with a degree of ill-humour which she could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind partiality provoked her.

Although Lydia missed this part of his news, Elizabeth heard it. The news convinced her that Darcy was just as responsible for Wickham’s absence as if her first guess had been right. Her immediate disappointment sharpened every feeling of resentment toward Darcy. So when he approached her directly afterward with polite questions, she could hardly answer with reasonable civility. To show Darcy attention, tolerance, or patience would be to wrong Wickham. She was determined not to have any conversation with him and turned away in a bad mood. She could not entirely overcome her irritation even when speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind favoritism annoyed her.

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every prospect of her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on her spirits; and, having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice. The two first dances, however, brought a return of distress: they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologizing instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. The moment of her release from him was ecstasy.

But Elizabeth was not one to stay in a bad mood. Although all her hopes for the evening had been ruined, her disappointment could not weigh on her for long. She told all her troubles to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week. Then she was soon ready to turn to her cousin’s oddities and draw Charlotte’s particular attention to him. The first two dances, however, brought back her distress. Both were humiliating. Mr. Collins was awkward and solemn, apologizing instead of paying attention, and often making wrong moves without realizing it. He caused her all the embarrassment and misery an unpleasant partner could cause over a couple of dances. The moment she was free of him was pure bliss.

She danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of talking of Wickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked. When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of mind: Charlotte tried to console her.

She next danced with an officer and enjoyed talking about Wickham and hearing that everyone liked him. When those dances ended, she returned to Charlotte Lucas. While they were talking, Mr. Darcy suddenly approached her and asked her to dance. His invitation surprised her so much that she accepted without realizing what she was doing. He immediately walked away again, leaving her to fret over her failure to think clearly. Charlotte tried to comfort her.

“I dare say you will find him very agreeable.”

“I expect you’ll find him very pleasant.”

“Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an evil.”

“Heaven forbid! That would be the worst misfortune of all! To like a man I’m determined to hate! Don’t wish anything so awful on me.”

When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her, in a whisper, not to be a simpleton, and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man often times his consequence. Elizabeth made no answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbours’ looks their equal amazement in beholding it. They stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances, and, at first, was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time, with—

When the dancing began again, however, Darcy approached to claim his dance with Elizabeth. Charlotte could not help whispering a warning to her not to be a fool. She should not let her fondness for Wickham make her seem unpleasant to a man of far greater social importance. Elizabeth said nothing and took her place among the dancers. She was amazed at the honor of being allowed to stand opposite Mr. Darcy. The looks on her neighbors’ faces showed that they were equally amazed to see her there. They stood for some time without saying a word. Elizabeth began to imagine that their silence would last through both dances. At first, she was determined not to break the silence. Then she suddenly thought that making her partner talk would punish him more. So she made a brief comment about the dance. He replied, then fell silent again. After a pause of a few minutes, she spoke to 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.”

“It’s your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance. And you should say something about the size of the room or the number of couples.”

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

He smiled and assured her he would say whatever she wanted him to say.

“Very well; that reply will do for the present. Perhaps, by-and-by, I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones; but now we may be silent.”

“Very well. That answer will do for now. Perhaps later I may remark that private balls are much more enjoyable than public ones. But now we can be quiet.”

“Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?”

“So do you follow rules for conversation while you’re dancing?”

“Sometimes. 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.”

“Sometimes. We must talk a little, you know. It would look odd to stay completely silent for half an hour. And yet, for the benefit of some, conversation should be arranged to spare them the trouble of saying very much.”

“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”

“Are you considering your own feelings here? Or do you imagine you’re pleasing me?”

“Both,” replied Elizabeth archly; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. 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 éclat of a proverb.”

“Both,” Elizabeth replied teasingly. “For I have always thought we think very much alike. We are both unsociable and quiet. Neither of us wants to speak unless we expect our words to amaze the whole room and be passed down to future generations with all the fame of a proverb.”

“This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” said he. “How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait, undoubtedly.”

“I’m sure this description doesn’t sound much like you,” he said. “How closely it matches my character, I can’t say. You undoubtedly think the description is accurate.”

“I must not decide on my own performance.”

“I must not judge my own performance.”

He made no answer; and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative; and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

He did not answer. They were silent again until they had moved down the line of dancers. Then he asked whether she and her sisters often walked to Meryton. She said they did and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just been getting to know someone new.”

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not a word; and Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said,—

The effect was immediate. His face showed even greater arrogance, but he said nothing. And Elizabeth, though she blamed herself for her weakness, could not continue. At last Darcy spoke, saying stiffly:

“Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may insure his making friends; whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.”

“Mr. Wickham is blessed with such charming manners that he can count on making friends. But whether he is equally good at keeping them is less certain.”

“He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,” replied Elizabeth, with emphasis, “and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”

“He has had the bad luck to lose your friendship,” Elizabeth replied firmly. “And the way he lost it will likely cause him suffering for the rest of his life.”

Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject. At that moment Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but, on perceiving Mr. Darcy, he stopped, with a bow of superior courtesy, to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

Darcy did not answer and seemed eager to change the subject. Just then, Sir William Lucas came near them, intending to cross through the dancers to the room’s other side. But when he noticed Mr. Darcy, he stopped and gave an exceptionally courteous bow. He complimented Mr. Darcy 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 (glancing at her sister and Bingley), shall take place. 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.”

“I have been truly delighted, my dear sir. Such excellent dancing is rarely seen. You clearly move in the highest social circles. But allow me to say that your lovely partner is a credit to you, too. I must hope to enjoy watching you dance together often, especially when a certain happy event takes place. You know what I mean, my dear Miss Eliza (glancing at her sister and Bingley). What congratulations there will be then! I ask Mr. Darcy to agree. But let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for keeping you from this young lady’s enchanting conversation. Her bright eyes are scolding me, too.”

The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir William’s allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed, with a very serious expression, towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however, shortly, he turned to his partner, and said,—

Darcy barely heard the last part of this speech. But Sir William’s reference to his friend seemed to make a strong impression on him. He looked very seriously at Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Soon, however, he regained his composure, turned to his partner, and said:

“Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what we were talking of.”

“Sir William’s interruption made me forget what we were talking about.”

“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 or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

“I don’t think we were talking at all. Sir William couldn’t have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say to each other. We’ve already tried two or three topics without success. And I can’t imagine what we’ll talk about next.”

“What think you of books?” said he, smiling.

“What do you think of books?” he asked, smiling.

“Books—oh no!—I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.”

“Books, oh no! I’m sure we never read the same books, or at least not with the same feelings.”

“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.”

“I’m sorry you think so. But if that’s the case, at least we won’t run out of things to discuss. We can compare our different opinions.”

“No—I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.”

“No, I can’t talk about books at a ball. My mind is always on something else.”

“The present always occupies you in such scenes—does it?” said he, with a look of doubt.

“The present always holds your attention in situations like these, does it?” he said, looking doubtful.

“Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said; for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, “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?”

“Yes, always,” she replied, unaware of what she was saying because her thoughts had wandered far from the subject. This soon became clear when she suddenly exclaimed, “I remember hearing you say once, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave. Once you began to resent someone, nothing could soothe your resentment. I suppose you’re very careful about letting that resentment begin?”

“I am,” said he, with a firm voice.

“I am,” he said in a firm voice.

“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”

“And never let prejudice blind you?”

“I hope not.”

“I hope not.”

“It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.”

“People who never change their opinions have a special duty to make sure they judge correctly from the start.”

“May I ask to what these questions tend?”

“May I ask where these questions are leading?”

“Merely to the illustration of your character,” said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. “I am trying to make it out.”

“Only to shed light on your character,” she said, trying to stop being so serious. “I’m trying to understand your character.”

“And what is your success?”

“And how successful have you been?”

She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”

She shook her head. “I’m not getting anywhere at all. I hear such different things about you that I’m very confused.”

“I can readily believe,” answered he, gravely, “that reports 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.”

“I can easily believe,” he replied seriously, “that reports about me may differ greatly. And I would rather you didn't describe my character just now, Miss Bennet. There is reason to fear that your description would make neither of us look good.”

“But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.”

“But if I don’t capture your likeness now, I may never get another chance.”

“I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” he coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree; for in Darcy’s breast there was a tolerably powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.

“I would certainly not interrupt any pleasure of yours,” he replied coldly. She said nothing more, and they finished the other dance and parted in silence. Both were dissatisfied, though not equally so. Darcy had fairly strong feelings for her, so he soon forgave her and directed all his anger at someone else.

They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and, with an expression of civil disdain, thus accosted her,—

They had only just parted when Miss Bingley approached her. With a look of polite contempt, Miss Bingley addressed her:

“So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham? Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions; and I find that the young man forgot to tell you, among his other communications, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy’s steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for, as to Mr. Darcy’s using him ill, it is perfectly false: for, on the contrary, he has been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame; that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned; and that though my brother thought he could not well avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent thing, indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite’s guilt; but really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better.”

“So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham? Your sister has been talking to me about him and asking me a thousand questions. I find that, among everything else he told you, the young man forgot to mention his father. He was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy’s steward. But let me advise you, as a friend, not to trust all his claims without question. His claim that Mr. Darcy treated him badly is completely false. On the contrary, Mr. Darcy has always been remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy disgracefully. I do not know the details, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not at all to blame. I also know that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned. My brother thought he could hardly avoid including Wickham in his invitation to the officers. But he was extremely glad to find that Wickham had stayed away. His coming to this part of the country at all is incredibly rude. I wonder how he could dare to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, now that you have discovered your favourite’s guilt. But really, considering his family background, one could not expect much better.”

“His guilt and his descent appear, by your account, to be the same,” said Elizabeth, angrily; “for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy’s steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself.”

“From your account, his guilt and his family background seem to be the same thing,” said Elizabeth angrily. “For you’ve accused him of nothing worse than being the son of Mr. Darcy’s steward. And that, I assure you, he told me himself.”

“I beg your pardon,” replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. “Excuse my interference; it was kindly meant.”

“I'm sorry,” replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. “Forgive me for interfering. I meant well.”

“Insolent girl!” said Elizabeth to herself. “You are much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy.” She then sought her eldest sister, who had undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening. Elizabeth instantly read her feelings; and, at that moment, solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way before the hope of Jane’s being in the fairest way for happiness.

“Rude girl!” Elizabeth said to herself. “You are very much mistaken if you expect to influence me with such a petty attack. I see nothing in your attack but your own deliberate ignorance and Mr. Darcy’s malice.” She then went to find her eldest sister, who had agreed to ask Bingley about the same subject. Jane greeted her with a sweet, contented smile, her face glowing with happiness. Her expression clearly showed how pleased she was with the evening’s events. Elizabeth understood her feelings at once. At that moment, her concern for Wickham, her anger at his enemies, and everything else gave way to hope. Jane seemed well on her way to happiness.

“I want to know,” said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her sister’s, “what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person, in which case you may be sure of my pardon.”

“I want to know,” she said, smiling just as much as her sister, “what you’ve learned about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you’ve been enjoying yourself too much to think about anyone else. If so, you can be sure I forgive you.”

“No,” replied Jane, “I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy; but he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity and honour, of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received; and I am sorry to say that by his account, as well as his sister’s, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy’s regard.”

“No,” Jane replied, “I have not forgotten him, but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know his whole history. He knows nothing about the circumstances that have most offended Mr. Darcy. But he will vouch for his friend’s good conduct, honesty, and honour. He is completely convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved far less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received. And I am sorry to say that, according to both Mr. Bingley and his sister, Mr. Wickham is not at all respectable. I am afraid he has behaved very unwisely and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy’s respect.”

“Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself.”

“Mr. Bingley doesn’t know Mr. Wickham personally.”

“No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.”

“No, he had never seen him until the other morning in Meryton.”

“This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am perfectly satisfied. But what does he say of the living?”

“So this is the account he received from Mr. Darcy. I’m completely satisfied. But what does he say about the church position?”

“He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to him conditionally only.”

“He doesn't remember the exact details, though Mr. Darcy has told him about them more than once. But he believes it was left to him only with conditions attached.”

“I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley’s sincerity,” said Elizabeth warmly, “but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr. Bingley’s defence of his friend was a very able one, I dare say; but since he is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that friend himself, I shall venture still to think of both gentlemen as I did before.”

“I have no doubt that Mr. Bingley is sincere,” Elizabeth said firmly, “but you must forgive me for needing more than assurances. I’m sure Mr. Bingley defended his friend very well. But he doesn’t know several parts of the story, and he heard the rest from his friend himself. So I’ll dare to keep my opinion of both gentlemen unchanged.”

She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on which there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley’s regard, and said all in her power to heighten her confidence in it. On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last partner she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them, and told her with great exultation, that he had just been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery.

She then turned to a subject more pleasing to them both, and on which they could not disagree. Elizabeth listened with delight to Jane’s happy but modest hopes that Bingley cared for her. She said everything she could to strengthen Jane’s confidence in his feelings. When Mr. Bingley himself joined them, Elizabeth went over to Miss Lucas. Miss Lucas asked whether Elizabeth had enjoyed dancing with her last partner. Elizabeth had barely answered when Mr. Collins approached them. With great excitement, he told Elizabeth he had just been fortunate enough to make a most important discovery.

“I have found out,” said he, “by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation to my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of this house the names of his cousin Miss De Bourgh, and of her mother, Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with—perhaps—a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! I am most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology.”

“I have discovered,” he said, “by a remarkable coincidence, that a close relative of my patroness is here in the room. I happened to overhear the gentleman speaking to the young lady acting as hostess. He mentioned his cousin Miss De Bourgh and her mother, Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these things happen! Who would have thought I might meet a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh at this gathering! I am most grateful to have discovered the connection in time to pay my respects to him. I am going to do so now, and I trust he will forgive me for not approaching him sooner. My complete ignorance of the connection must serve as my excuse.”

“You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?”

“You’re not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?”

“Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine’s nephew. It will be in my power to assure him that her Ladyship was quite well yesterday se’nnight.”

“Yes, I am. I’ll ask his forgiveness for not having done it sooner. I believe he is Lady Catherine’s nephew. I’ll be able to assure him that her Ladyship was quite well a week ago yesterday.”

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme; assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as an impertinent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aunt; that it was not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either side, and that if it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in consequence, to begin the acquaintance. Mr. Collins listened to her with the determined air of following his own inclination, and when she ceased speaking, replied thus,—

Elizabeth tried hard to talk him out of his plan. She assured him that Mr. Darcy would think it rude of him to speak without an introduction. Mr. Darcy would not see it as a compliment to his aunt. There was no need at all for either man to acknowledge the other. If there were, Mr. Darcy, as the man of higher social standing, would have to make the first move. Mr. Collins listened with an air of determination to do as he pleased. When Elizabeth stopped speaking, he replied as follows:

“My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your understanding, but permit me to say that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity and those which regulate the clergy; for, give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom—provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the same time maintained. You must, therefore, allow me to follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which lead me to perform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other subject shall be my constant guide, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a young lady like yourself;” and with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at being so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the words “apology,” “Hunsford,” and “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” It vexed her to see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained wonder; and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him to speak, replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy’s contempt seemed abundantly increasing with the length of his second speech; and at the end of it he only made him a slight bow, and moved another way: Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.

“My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest possible opinion of your excellent judgment in all matters within your understanding. But allow me to say that the rules of etiquette for laypeople must differ greatly from those for the clergy. For I consider the clergy equal in dignity to the highest rank in the kingdom, provided they remain properly humble. You must therefore allow me to follow my conscience on this occasion. My conscience directs me to do what I consider my duty. Forgive me for not following your advice, which will be my constant guide on every other subject. In this case, though, my education and regular study make me better qualified to judge what is right than a young lady like yourself.” With a deep bow, he left her to approach Mr. Darcy. She eagerly watched Mr. Darcy’s response, and his astonishment at being addressed in this way was obvious. Her cousin began his speech with a solemn bow. Although she could not hear a word, she felt as if she could hear everything. She could make out “apology,” “Hunsford,” and “Lady Catherine de Bourgh” from the movements of his lips. She was annoyed to see him make a fool of himself before such a man. Mr. Darcy stared at him in undisguised amazement. When Mr. Collins finally let him speak, Mr. Darcy replied with distant politeness. Mr. Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again. Mr. Darcy’s contempt seemed to grow considerably as this second speech continued. When it ended, he merely gave Mr. Collins a slight bow and moved away. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.

“I have no reason, I assure you,” said he, “to be dissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying, that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine’s discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was really a very handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him.”

“I assure you, I have no reason to be unhappy with how I was received,” he said. “Mr. Darcy seemed very pleased with the attention. He answered me very politely and even paid me a compliment. He said he trusted Lady Catherine’s judgment so completely that he was certain she would never favor anyone unworthy. That was a very gracious thing to say. On the whole, I am very pleased with him.”

As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley; and the train of agreeable reflections which her observations gave birth to made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She saw her in idea settled in that very house, in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection could bestow; and she felt capable, under such circumstances, of endeavouring even to like Bingley’s two sisters. Her mother’s thoughts she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to venture near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat down to supper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky perverseness which placed them within one of each other; and deeply was she vexed to find that her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas) freely, openly, and of nothing else but of her expectation that Jane would be soon married to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match. His being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but three miles from them, were the first points of self-gratulation; and then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that they must desire the connection as much as she could do. It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane’s marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men; and, lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister, that she might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. It was necessary to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure, because on such occasions it is the etiquette; but no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to find comfort in staying at home at any period of her life. She concluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there was no chance of it.

As Elizabeth no longer had any interests of her own to pursue, she focused almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley. What she saw prompted pleasant thoughts that made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She imagined Jane settled in that very house, enjoying all the happiness a marriage based on true affection could bring. Under those circumstances, Elizabeth felt she could even try to like Bingley’s two sisters. She could plainly see that her mother’s thoughts were heading in the same direction. So she decided to keep her distance, for fear of hearing too much. When they sat down to supper, Elizabeth therefore thought it particularly bad luck to have only one person between them. She was deeply annoyed to find her mother talking freely and openly to that person, Lady Lucas. Her mother spoke of nothing but her expectation that Jane would soon marry Mr. Bingley. The subject filled Mrs. Bennet with energy, and she seemed tireless as she listed the advantages of the match. First, she congratulated herself on his being such a charming young man, so rich, and living only three miles away. Then there was the comfort of knowing how fond his two sisters were of Jane. She felt certain they must want the marriage as much as she did. The match also offered such promising opportunities for her younger daughters. Jane’s marrying so well must bring them into contact with other rich men. Finally, at her age, how pleasant to leave her unmarried daughters in their sister’s care. Then she would not have to attend social gatherings more often than she liked. She had to present this prospect as a pleasure, because that was the proper attitude on such occasions. But no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to enjoy staying home at any age. She ended by warmly wishing that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate. Yet she clearly believed, with a sense of triumph, that Lady Lucas had no chance of such good fortune.

In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother’s words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for to her inexpressible vexation she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Her mother only scolded her for being nonsensical.

Elizabeth tried in vain to slow her mother’s flood of words or persuade her to whisper her happiness more quietly. To Elizabeth’s intense frustration, she could tell that Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite them, had overheard most of it. Her mother only scolded her for being silly.

“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.”

“Who is Mr. Darcy to me, anyway, that I should be afraid of him? I’m sure we don’t owe him such special politeness that we must avoid saying anything he might dislike hearing.”

“For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing.”

“For heaven’s sake, ma’am, lower your voice. What do you gain by offending Mr. Darcy? You’ll never make a good impression on his friend by offending him.”

Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently glancing her eye at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother, she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression of his face changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity.

Nothing Elizabeth said, however, made any difference. Her mother kept talking about her plans in the same clearly audible voice. Elizabeth blushed again and again with shame and frustration. She could not help glancing often at Mr. Darcy, though every glance confirmed her fears. For although he was not always looking at her mother, Elizabeth was convinced her mother held his attention throughout. His expression gradually changed from angry contempt to a calm, steady seriousness.

At length, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Lady Lucas, who had been long yawning at the repetition of delights which she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth now began to revive. But not long was the interval of tranquillity; for when supper was over, singing was talked of, and she had the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent entreaties did she endeavour to prevent such a proof of complaisance,—but in vain; Mary would not understand them; such an opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song. Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on her, with most painful sensations; and she watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience which was very ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving amongst the thanks of the table the hint of a hope that she might be prevailed on to favour them again, after the pause of half a minute began another. Mary’s powers were by no means fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner affected. Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at Jane to see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued, however, impenetrably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his interference, lest Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint, and, when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud,—

At last, however, Mrs. Bennet had nothing more to say. Lady Lucas had long been yawning at the repeated descriptions of pleasures she saw no chance of sharing. She was now left to find comfort in cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth began to recover. But her peace did not last long. After supper, someone suggested singing, and Elizabeth was embarrassed to see Mary preparing to entertain everyone after very little urging. With many meaningful looks and silent appeals, Elizabeth tried to stop Mary from being so obliging, but without success. Mary refused to understand her. Such a chance to show off delighted Mary, and she began her song. Elizabeth watched her with painful anxiety. She waited impatiently through each verse, only to find her patience very poorly rewarded when the song ended. Among the thanks from the table came a hint that Mary might be persuaded to sing again. After a pause of half a minute, Mary began another song. Her abilities were by no means suited to such a performance. Her voice was weak, and her manner was affected. Elizabeth was in agony. She looked at Jane to see how she was bearing the performance, but Jane was calmly talking to Bingley. Elizabeth looked at his two sisters. They were exchanging mocking looks with each other and with Darcy, whose face, however, remained unreadably serious. She looked at her father, silently begging him to intervene before Mary sang all night. He took the hint. When Mary finished her second song, he said aloud:

“That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.”

“That’s quite enough, child. You’ve delighted us long enough. Give the other young ladies a chance to show their talents.”

Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted; and Elizabeth, sorry for her, and sorry for her father’s speech, was afraid her anxiety had done no good. Others of the party were now applied to.

Though Mary pretended not to hear, she was somewhat embarrassed. Elizabeth felt sorry for her and regretted her father’s remark. She feared her concern had done no good. Others in the group were now asked to perform.

“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 everybody, 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. Many stared—many smiled; but no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously 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.

“If I were lucky enough to be able to sing,” said Mr. Collins, “I would certainly take great pleasure in entertaining everyone with a song. I consider music a perfectly harmless pastime, entirely suitable for a clergyman. However, I do not mean that we are justified in spending too much time on music. There are certainly other things that need attention. A parish rector has much to do. First, he must arrange the tithes, the payments he receives from the parish, to his own advantage without offending his patron. He must write his own sermons. The remaining time will be no more than he needs for his parish duties and for maintaining and improving his home. He has no excuse for failing to make his home as comfortable as possible. And I think it is very important that he should be attentive and eager to please everyone. He should be especially attentive to those to whom he owes his appointment. I cannot excuse him from that duty. Nor could I respect a man who missed a chance to show respect to anyone connected with his patron’s family.” With a bow to Mr. Darcy, he ended his speech, having spoken loudly enough for half the room to hear. Many stared, and many smiled. But no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself. His wife, however, earnestly praised Mr. Collins for speaking so sensibly. In a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, she called him a remarkably clever, good-natured young man.

To Elizabeth it appeared, that had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit, or finer success; and happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister that some of the exhibition had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he must have witnessed. That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however, should have such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations was bad enough; and she could not determine whether the silent contempt of the gentleman, or the insolent smiles of the ladies, were more intolerable.

To Elizabeth, it seemed as if her family had agreed to make the greatest possible fools of themselves that evening. If so, they could not have played their parts with more enthusiasm or greater success. She thought it fortunate for Bingley and her sister that he had missed some of the display. Fortunately, too, he was not the sort to be deeply upset by the foolishness he must have witnessed. Still, it was bad enough that his two sisters and Mr. Darcy had such an opportunity to ridicule her relatives. She could not decide which was more unbearable: Mr. Darcy’s silent contempt or the ladies’ insulting smiles.

The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teased by Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her side; and though he could not prevail with her to dance with him again, put it out of her power to dance with others. In vain did she entreat him to stand up with somebody else, and offered to introduce him to any young lady in the room. He assured her that, as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to it; that his chief object was, by delicate attentions, to recommend himself to her; and that he should therefore make a point of remaining close to her the whole evening. There was no arguing upon such a project. She owed her greatest relief to her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and good-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins’s conversation to herself.

The rest of the evening gave her little pleasure. Mr. Collins annoyed her by staying stubbornly at her side. Though he could not persuade her to dance with him again, he made it impossible for her to dance with others. She begged him to dance with someone else and offered to introduce him to any young lady in the room. Her efforts were useless. He assured her that he did not care at all about dancing. His main aim was to win her favor through thoughtful attentions. He would therefore make a point of staying close to her all evening. There was no arguing with such a plan. Her greatest relief came from her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them and kindly drew Mr. Collins into conversation.

She was at least free from the offence of Mr. Darcy’s further notice: though often standing within a very short distance of her, quite disengaged, he never came near enough to speak. She felt it to be the probable consequence of her allusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in it.

At least she was spared the annoyance of any further attention from Mr. Darcy. Though he often stood very close to her with nothing to occupy him, he never came close enough to speak. She thought his distance was probably due to her references to Mr. Wickham, and she was delighted.

The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart; and by a manœuvre of Mrs. Bennet had to wait for their carriage a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone, which gave them time to see how heartily they were wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her sister scarcely opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue, and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation, and, by so doing, threw a languor over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together a little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other. Elizabeth preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of “Lord, how tired I am!” accompanied by a violent yawn.

The Longbourn party were the last of all the guests to leave. Thanks to a scheme of Mrs. Bennet’s, they had to wait fifteen minutes for their carriage after everyone else had gone. This gave them time to see how eagerly some of the family wished they would leave. Mrs. Hurst and her sister barely spoke except to complain of tiredness. They were clearly impatient to have the house to themselves. They rebuffed every attempt Mrs. Bennet made at conversation, making the whole gathering dull and listless. Mr. Collins’s long speeches did very little to improve matters. He was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on their elegant entertainment and their hospitality and politeness toward their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet was equally silent, enjoying the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane stood a little apart from the others and talked only to each other. Elizabeth remained as consistently silent as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley. Even Lydia was too tired to say more than an occasional “Lord, how tired I am!” accompanied by an enormous yawn.

When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn; and addressed herself particularly to Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy he would make them, by eating a family dinner with them at any time, without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful pleasure; and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on her after his return from London, whither he was obliged to go the next day for a short time.

When they finally got up to leave, Mrs. Bennet warmly urged the whole family to visit Longbourn soon. She spoke especially to Mr. Bingley, assuring him how happy they would be to have him join a family dinner. He was welcome any time, without a formal invitation. Bingley was full of gratitude and delight. He readily promised to visit her at the first opportunity after returning from London. He had to go there the next day for a short stay.

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied; and quitted the house under the delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations of settlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly see her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three or four months. Of having another daughter married to Mr. Collins she thought with equal certainty, and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure. Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children; and though the man and the match were quite good enough for her, the worth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.

Mrs. Bennet was completely satisfied. She left the house delighted and certain that her daughter would be settled at Netherfield within three or four months. That allowed time for the necessary marriage settlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes. She was equally certain that another daughter would marry Mr. Collins. The thought gave her considerable pleasure, though not as much. Elizabeth was her least loved child. Although the man and the match were quite good enough for her, neither could compare with Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.