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 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, “I do not imagine his business would have called
him away just now, if he had not 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 enquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make.
Attendance, 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.🔗
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 first two dances, however, brought a return of distress; they were
dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologising
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.🔗
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:🔗
“I dare say you will find him very agreeable.”🔗
“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.”🔗
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 ten 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:—“It is your
turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you
ought to make some sort of remark on 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.🔗
“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.”🔗
“Do you talk by rule, then, while you are 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.”🔗
“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you
imagine that you are gratifying mine?”🔗
“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.”🔗
“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 must not decide on 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.”🔗
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, “Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners
as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally
capable of retaining 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.”🔗
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.🔗
“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 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.”🔗
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, “Sir William’s interruption has made me
forget what we were talking of.”🔗
“I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have
interrupted 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.”🔗
“What think you of books?” said he, smiling.🔗
“Books—oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or 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.”🔗
“No—I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of
something else.”🔗
“The present always occupies you in such scenes—does it?”
said he, with a look of doubt.🔗
“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?”🔗
“I am,” said he, with a firm voice.🔗
“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”🔗
“I hope not.”🔗
“It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to
be secure of judging properly at first.”🔗
“May I ask to what these questions tend?”🔗
“Merely to the illustration of your character,” said she,
endeavouring to shake off her gravity. “I am trying to make it out.”🔗
“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.”🔗
“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.”🔗
“But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another
opportunity.”🔗
“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; and 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.🔗
They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with
an expression of civil disdain accosted 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 quite forgot to tell you, among
his other communication, 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 always been
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 that 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.”🔗
“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.”🔗
“I beg your pardon,” replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer.
“Excuse my interference—it was kindly meant.”🔗
“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 enquiries 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.🔗
“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.”🔗
“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 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.”🔗
“Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?”🔗
“No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.”🔗
“This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am satisfied.
But what does he say of the living?”🔗
“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.”🔗
“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 defense 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 to still think of both
gentlemen as I did before.”🔗
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 Mr.
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 enquiry 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.🔗
“I have found out,” said he, “by a singular accident, that there is now in
the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the
gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of the
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.”🔗
“You are 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.”🔗
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:🔗
“My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world in your
excellent judgement 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 leads 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
time 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.🔗
“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.”🔗
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
her expectation that Jane would soon be 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 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.🔗
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.🔗
“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. What advantage can it be for you
to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so
doing!”🔗
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.🔗
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, imperturbably 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,
“That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough.
Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.”🔗
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.🔗
“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.🔗
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.🔗
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 on 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 offer 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.🔗
She was at least free from the offense 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.🔗
The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart, and, by a
manoeuvre 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.🔗
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 especially 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.🔗
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.🔗