 CHAPTER XV Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education or society, the greatest part of his life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father, and though he belonged to one of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary terms without forming out at any useful acquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought him up had given him originally great humility of manner, but it was now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in retirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected prosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Berg when the living of Hunsford was vacant, and the respect which he felt for her high rank and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his right as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance, and humility. Having now a good house, and a very sufficient income, he intended to marry, and in seeking a reconciliation with the long-born family, he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the daughters if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by Common Report. This was his plan of amends, of atonement, for inheriting their father's estate, and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own part. His plan did not vary on seeing them. Miss Bennet's lovely face confirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of what was due to seniority, and for the first evening she was his settled choice. The next morning, however, made an alteration, for in a quarter of an hour's tit-a-tit with Mrs. Bennet, before breakfast, a conversation beginning with his Parsonage house, and leading naturally to the avowal of his hopes, that a mistress might be found for it at Longbourn, produced from her, amid very complacent smiles and general encouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on. As to her younger daughters, she could not take upon her to say, she could not positively answer, but she did not know of any prepossession. Her eldest daughter, she must just mention, she felt it incumbent on her to hint, was likely to be very soon engaged. Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth, and it was soon done. Done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equal next to Jane, and birth and beauty, succeeded her, of course. Mrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might soon have two daughters married, and the man whom she could not bear to speak of the day before, was now high in her good graces. But his intention of walking to Mariton was not forgotten. Every sister except Mary agreed to go with her, and Mr. Collins was to attend them, at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get rid of him, and have his library to himself. For there Mr. Collins had followed him after breakfast, and there he would continue, nominally engaged with one of the largest folios in the collection, but really talking to Mr. Bennet with little cessation of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such doings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been always sure of leisure and tranquillity, and though prepared, as he told Elizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit in every other room of the house, he was used to be free from them there. His civility therefore was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters in their walk, and Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fitted for a walker than a reader, was extremely pleased to close his large book and go. In pompous nothings on his side and civil ascents on that of his cousins, their time passed till they entered Merriton. The attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by him. Their eyes were immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop window could recall them. But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with another officer on the other side of the way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny concerning whose return from London Lydia came to inquire, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the strangest air, all wondered who he could be, and Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find out, led the way across the street under pretence of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, had reached the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated permission to introduce his friend Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say had accepted a commission in their call. This was exactly as it should be, for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him completely charming. His appearance was greatly in his favour. He had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation, a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming, and the whole party was still standing and talking together very agreeably when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object. He was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of a stranger, and Elizabeth, happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour. One looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat, a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine. It was impossible not to long to know. In another minute, Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what past, took leave and rode on with his friend. Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Phillips' house, and then made their bow, since bite of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they should come in, and even in spite of Mrs. Phillips throwing up the parlor window and loudly seconding the invitation. Mrs. Phillips was always glad to see her nieces, and the two eldest from their recent absence were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which, as their own carriage had not fetched them, she should have known nothing about, if she had not happened to see Mr. Jones' shop-boy in the street, who had told her that they were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield because the Miss Bennets were come away, when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with as much more, apologising for his intrusion without any previous acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering himself, however, might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced him to her notice. Mrs. Phillips was quite awed by such an excess of good-breeding, but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put to an end by exclamations and inquiries about the other, of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought him from London, and that he was to have a Lieutenant's commission in the Shire. She had been watching him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street, and had Mr. Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the occupation. But, unluckily, no one passed the windows now except a few of the officers who, in comparison with a stranger, were become stupid, disagreeable fellows. Some of them were to dine with the Philipses the next day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham and give him an invitation also, if the family from Longbawm would come in the evening. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Phillips protested that they would have a nice, comfortable, noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured with unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless. As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen. But though Jane would have defended either or both had they appeared to be in the wrong, she could no more explain such behaviour than her sister. Mr. Collins, on his return, highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. Phillips' manners and politeness. He protested that, except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman. For she had not only received him with the utmost civility, but even pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her before. Something, he supposed, might be attributed to his connection with them, but yet he had never met with so much attention the whole course of his life. CHAPTER XVI As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their aunt, and all Mr. Collins' couples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton, and the girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then in the house. When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr. Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire, and he was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast-pallet Rosings, a comparison that did not at first convey much gratification. But when Mrs. Phillips understood from him what Rosings was, and who was its proprietor, when she had listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherine's drawing-rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison with the housekeeper's room. In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and the improvements it was receiving, he was happily employed until the gentleman joined them, and he found in Mrs. Phillips a very attentive listener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she heard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as soon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin, and who had nothing to do but to wish for an instrument, and examine their own indifferent imitations of China on the mantel-piece, the interval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last, however. The gentleman did approach, and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room, Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking of him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. The officers of the Shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party, but Mr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as they were superior to the broad-faced, stuffy Uncle Phillips, breathing poured wine, who followed them into the room. Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself, and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker. With such rivals for the notice of the fair as Mr. Wickham and the officers, Mr. Collins seemed to sink into insignificance. To the young ladies, he certainly was nothing, but he had still, at intervals, a kind listener in Mrs. Phillips, and was, by her watchfulness, most abundantly supplied with coffee and muffin. When the card-tables were placed, he had the opportunity of obliging her in turn by sitting down to wist. I know little of the game at present, said he, but I shall be glad to improve myself, for in my situation in life, Mrs. Phillips was very glad for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason. Mr. Wickham did not play at wist, and with ready delight was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there seemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely, for she was a most determined talker, but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets, she soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making bets and exclaiming after prizes to have attention for any one in particular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to be told, the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She did not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity, however, was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how far Netherfield was for Meryton, and after receiving her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there. "'About a month,' said Elizabeth, and then unwilling to let the subject drop, added, "'He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.' "'Yes,' replied Mr. Wickham, "'his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy.' Elizabeth could not but look surprised. You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?" "'As much as I ever wished to be,' cried Elizabeth very warmly, "'I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very disagreeable.' "'I have no right to give my opinion,' said Wickham, as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial, but I believe your opinion of him would in general astonish, and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you are in your own family.' Upon my word, I say no more here than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody has disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by any one. "'I cannot pretend to be sorry,' said Wickham, after a short interruption, that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond their deserts. But with him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and opposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen. I should take him even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man.' Wickham only shook his head. "'I wonder,' said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, whether he is likely to be in this country much longer. I do not at all know, but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the Shire will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.' "'Oh, no! It is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him, but what I might proclaim before all the world, a sense of a very great ill-usage and most painful regrets at his being what he is.' His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had, and I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has been scandalous, but I verily believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father. Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all her heart, but the delicacy of it prevented further inquiry. Mr. Wicken began to speak on more general topics—meritan, the neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with gentle but very intelligible gallantry. It was the prospect of constant society, and good society, he added, which was my chief inducement to enter the Shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable core, and my friend Denny tempted me further by his account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintances meritan had procured them. Society I own is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession. I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now. Indeed! Yes. The late Mr. Darcy book with me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it, but when the living fell it was given elsewhere. Good heavens! cried Elizabeth. But how could that be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal redress? There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it, or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short, anything or nothing. Certain it is that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man. And no less certain is it that I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion of him and to him too freely. I can recall nothing worse, but the fact is that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me. This is quite shocking. He deserves to be publicly disgraced. Some time or other he will be, but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him. Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them. But what, said she, after a pause, can have been his motive? What kind of induced him to behave so cruelly? A thorough determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot put a tribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have born with me better. But his father's uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was often given to me. I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this, though I have never liked him. I had not thought so very ill of him. I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but I do not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this. After a few minutes' reflection, however, she continued, I do remember his boasting one day at Netherfield of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful. I will not trust myself on the subject, replied Wycombe. I can hardly be just to him. Ruth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, To treat in such a manner the Godson, the friend, the favourite of his father—she could have added, a young man, too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable—but she contented herself with, and one, too, who had probably been his companion from childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest manner. We were born in the same parish, within the same park. The greatest part of our youth was passed together, inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. My father began life in the profession which your uncle Mr. Phillips appears to do so much credit to, but he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy, and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father's active superintendents, and when, immediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude to him, as of his affection to myself. How strange, quite Elizabeth, how abominable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you, if from no better motive that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest, for dishonesty I must call it. It is wonderful," replied Wilcom, for almost all his actions may be traced to pride, and pride had often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me there were stronger impulses even than pride. Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good? Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants and relieve the poor. Family pride and filial pride, for he is very proud of what his father was, have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities or lose the influence of the Pemberley house, is a powerful motive. He has also brotherly pride, which with some brotherly affection makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers. What sort of girl is Miss Darcy? He shook his head. I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy, but she is too much like her brother—very, very proud. As a child she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me, and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and I understand highly accomplished. Since her father's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and super-intense her education. After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not help reverting once more to the first, in saying, I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley. How can Mr. Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley? Not at all. He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is. Probably not. But Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be a conversable companion, if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man, from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him. But with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable, allowing something for fortune and figure. The wist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered round the other table, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Phillips. The usual inquiries as to his success were made by the latter. It had not been very great. He had lost every point. But when Mrs. Phillips began to express her concern thereupon, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged that she would not make herself uneasy. "'I know very well,' said he, that when persons sit down to a card-table they must take their chances of these things. And happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same. But thanks to Lady Catherine de Berg I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters." Mr. Wickham's attention was caught. And after observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation was very intimately acquainted with the family of de Berg. "'Lady Catherine de Berg,' she replied, has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long. You know, of course, that Lady Catherine de Berg and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters. Consequently that she is aunt to the present of Mr. Darcy.' "'No, indeed I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday.' "'Her daughter, Mr. Berg, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.'" This information made Elizabeth smile as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. Vane indeed must be all her attentions. Vane and useless her affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were already self-destined for another. Mr. Collins said she speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter, but from some particulars that he is related of her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant conceited woman. "'I believe her to be both in a great degree,' replied Wickham. "'I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever, but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride for her nephew, who chooses that every one connected with him should have an understanding of the first class." Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and they continued talking together with mutual satisfaction till supper put an end to cards, and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr. Wickham's attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Phillips' supper-party, but his manners recommended him to everybody. Whatever he said was said well, and whatever he did done gracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all the way home. But there was not time for her even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost, and the fish she had won. And Mr. Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses at Wist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing that he crowded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House. CHAPTER XVII Elizabeth related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr. Wickham and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern. She knew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard, and yet it was not in her nature to question the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham. The possibility of his having endured such unkindness was enough to interest all her tender feelings, and nothing remained therefore to be done but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and throw into the account of accident or mistake whatever could not be otherwise explained. They have both, said she, been deceived, I daresay, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side. Very true indeed. And now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say on behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? Do clear them, too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody. Love as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzie, do but consider him what a disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy to be treating his father's favourite in such a manner, one whom his father had promised to provide for. It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him? Oh no! I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on, than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me last night. Names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony. If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks. It is difficult indeed. It is distressing. One does not know what to think. I beg your pardon, one knows exactly what to think. But Jane could think with certainty on only one point, that Mr. Bingley, if he had been imposed on, would have much to suffer when the affair became public. The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery where this conversation passed, by the arrival of the very persons of whom they had been speaking. Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give their personal invitation for the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their dear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention, avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again, rising from their seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise, and hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities. The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as giving compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a ceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother, and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr. Darcy's look and behavior. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended less on any single event or any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was, at any rate, a ball, and even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it. While I can have my mornings to myself, said she, it is enough. I think it is no sacrifice to join occasionally an evening engagement. Society has claims on us all, and I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for everybody. Elizabeth's spirits were so high on this occasion, that though she did not often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's invitation, and if he did, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening's amusement. And she was rather surprised to find that he entertained no scroop or whatever on that head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke, either from the archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Berg, by venturing to dance. I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you, said he, that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency, and I am so far from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening, and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the first two dancers especially, a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect for her. Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being engaged by Mr. Wickham for those very dancers, and to have Mr. Collins instead. Her liveliness had never been worse-timed. There was no help for it, however. Mr. Wickham's happiness and her own were perforced delayed a little longer, and Mr. Collins' proposal accepted with as good a grace as she could. She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from the idea it suggested of something more. It now first struck her that she was selected from among her sisters, as worthy of being mistress of Huntsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a quadril table at Rosings in the absence of more eligible visitors. The idea soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing civilities toward herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit in vivacity, and though more astonished than gratified herself by this effect of her charms, it was not long before her mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage was extremely agreeable to her. Elizabeth, however, did not choose to take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr. Collins might never make the offer. Until he did, it was useless to quarrel about him. If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, the younger Miss Bennets would have been in a very pitiable state at this time, for from the day of the invitation to the day of the ball there was such a succession of rain as prevented their walking to Merritton once. No aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after. The very shoe roses for Netherfield were got by proxy. Elizabeth might have found some trial of her patience in weather which totally suspended the improvement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham, and nothing less than a dance on Tuesday could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, indurable to kitty and Lydia. CHAPTER XVIII. When 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 one 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 Bingley's invitation to the offices. 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 inquiries 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 dancers of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward in 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. 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 us 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 afret 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 Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbour's 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 make 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 bulls 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 might 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 Archley, 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 acclat 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 meritan. 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 auteur 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 the 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 in 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 upraiding 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. So 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 ballroom. 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 imparted in silence, and on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerable 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 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 guilt, but really, considering his dissent, one could not expect much better. His guilt and his dissent 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 willful ignorance in 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 solicitied for Wickham, and 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 accountants no less smiling than her sisters, 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 sisters, 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 Merritton. 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. When they were 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. "'I have found out,' said he, by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happen to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of the house, the names of his cousin, Mr. Berg, 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 Berg 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's celite.' 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 a 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 and your excellent judgment in all manners 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. It is in 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, Huntsford, and Lady Catherine de Berg, 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. 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 while 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. The 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 long been 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 complacence, 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 manner 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 destifying 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. Bennett 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 her 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' conversation to herself. 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. The long-born party was the last of all the company to depart, and by a manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennett 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 sisters 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. Bennett at conversation, and by so doing, threw a langer 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. Bennett, 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 pricked a steadier silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Mrs. 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 there rose to take leave, Mrs. Bennett 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, wither he was obliged to go the next day for a short time. Mrs. Bennett 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. CHAPTER XIX The next day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his declaration in form, having resolved to do it without loss of time, as his leave of absence extended only to the following Saturday, and having no feelings of diffidence to make it distressing to himself even at the moment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with all the observances, which he opposed a regular part of the business. On finding Mrs. Bennett, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together, soon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words. "'May I hope, madam, that for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this morning.'" Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennett answered instantly, "'Oh, dear, yes, certainly. I am sure Lizzie will be very happy. I am sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs.' And gathering her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out, "'Dear madam, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not here. I am going away myself. No, no, nonsense, Lizzie. I desire you to stay where you are.' And upon Elizabeth seeming really, with vexed and embarrassed looks about to escape, she added, "'Lizzie, I insist upon your staying and hearing, Mr. Collins.'" Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction, and a moment's consideration making her also sensible that it would be wiser to get it over as soon and as quietly as possible, she sat down again and tried to conceal, by incessant employment, the feelings which were divided between distress and diversion. Mrs. Bennett and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were gone, Mr. Collins began, "'Believe me, my dear, Miss Elizabeth, at your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness, but allow me to assure you that I have your respected mother's permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purpose of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to disemble. My attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Just as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying, and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did. The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure being run away with by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not use the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him further. And he continued. My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances like myself to set the example of matrimony in his parish, secondly, that I am convinced that it will add very greatly to my happiness, and thirdly, which, perhaps, I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion, unasked, too, on this subject. And it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford, between our pools at Quadril, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Mr. Berg's footstool that she said, Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly. Choose a gentle woman for my sake, and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her. Allow me, by the way, to observe my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Berg is among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe. And your wit and vivacity, I think, must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general intention in favour of matrimony, it remains to be told why my views were directed towards Longbourne, instead of my own neighbourhood, where I can assure you, there are many amiable young women. But the fact is that, being as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father, who, however, may live many years longer, I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible when the melancholy event takes place, which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection. To a fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with, and that one thousand pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours till after your mother's disease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent, and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married. It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now. You are too hasty, sir, she cried. You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to decline them. I am not now to learn, replied Mr. Collins with the formal wave of the hand, that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept when he first applies for their favour, and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long. Upon my words, sir, cried Elizabeth, your hope is a rather extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies, if such young ladies there are, who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill-qualified for the situation. Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so, said Mr. Collins very gravely, but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of you, and you may be certain when I have the honour of seeing her again, I shall speak in the very highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualification. Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must give me leave to judge for myself and pay me the compliment of believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of long-born estate whenever it falls without any self-reproach. This matter may be considered therefore as finally settled, and rising as she thus spoke, she would have quitted the room had Mr. Collins not thus addressed her. When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on the subject, I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me, though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character. Really, Mr. Collins, cried Elizabeth with some warmth, you puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as to convince you of its being one. You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these. It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy of your acceptance, all that the establishment I can offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of De Berg, and my relationship to your own are circumstances highly in my favour, and you should take it into further consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females. I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretensions whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart. You are uniformly charming, cried he, with an air of awkward gallantry, and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable. To such perseverance in willful self-deception Elizabeth would make no reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew, determined, if he persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered in such a manner as to be decisive, and whose behaviour at least could not be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female. Mr. Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his successful love, for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule to watch for the end of the conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open the door and with quick step pass her towards the staircase, then she entered the breakfast room, and congratulated both him and herself in warm terms on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Mr. Collins received and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and then proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with the result of which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied, since the refusal which his cousin had steadfastly given him, would naturally flow from her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character. This information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet. She would have been glad to be equally satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage him by protesting against his proposals, but she dared not believe it, and could not help saying so. But depend upon it, Mr. Collins, she added, that Lizzie shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it directly. She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest, but I will make her know it. Pardon me for interrupting you, madam, cried Mr. Collins, but if she is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would altogether be a desirable wife to amend my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage-state. If, therefore, she actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity. Sir, you quite misunderstand me, said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. Lizzie is only headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure." She would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her husband, called out as she entered the library. Oh, Mr. Bennet, you are wanted immediately. We are all in an uproar. You must come and make Lizzie marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will not have him, and if you do not make haste, he will change his mind and not have her." Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them on her face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by her communication. I have not the pleasure of understanding you, said he, when she had finished her speech. Of what are you talking? Of Mr. Collins and Lizzie. Lizzie declared she will not have Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not have Lizzie. And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems a hopeless business. Speak to Lizzie about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon her marrying him. Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion. Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was summoned to the library. Come here, child, cried her father as she appeared. I have sent for you one on a fair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true? Elizabeth replied that it was. Very well. And this offer of marriage you have refused? I have, sir. Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your accepting it. Is it not so, Mrs. Bennet? Yes, or I will never see her again. An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be estranged to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins. And I will never see you again if you do. Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning, but Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the affaire as she wished, was excessively disappointed. What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, in talking this way? You promised me to insist upon her marrying him. My dear, replied her husband, I have two small favours to request. First, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the present occasion, and secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as may be. Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in our husband, did Mrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth again and again, coaxed and threatened her by turns. She endeavored to secure Jane in her interest, but Jane, with all possible mildness, declined in deferring, and Elizabeth, sometimes with real earnestness, and sometimes with playful gayity, replied to her attacks. Though her manner varied, however, her determination never did. Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed. He thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motives his cousin could refuse him, and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other way. His regard for her was quite imaginary, and the possibility of her deserving her mother's reproach prevented his feeling any regret. While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend the day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying to her, cried in a half-whisper, I am glad you have come, for there is such fun here! What do you think has happened this morning? Mr. Collins has made an offer to Lizzie, and she will not have him. Charlotte hardly had time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty, who came to tell the same news. And no sooner had they entered the breakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennett was alone, then she likewise began on the subject, calling on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreating her to persuade her friend Lizzie to comply with the wishes of all her family. Pray do, my dear Miss Lucas, she added in a melancholy tone, for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me. I am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves. Charlotte's reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth. I, there she comes, continued Mrs. Bennett, looking as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for us than if we were at York, provided she can have her own way. But I tell you, Miss Lizzie, if you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way, you will never get a husband at all, and I am sure I do not know who was to maintain you when your father is dead. I shall not be able to keep you, and so I warn you. I have done with you from this very day. I told you in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as my word. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking to anybody. People who suffer as much as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer. But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied. Her daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that any attempt to reason with her or soothe her would only increase the irritation. She talked on, therefore, without interruption from any of them, till they were joined by Mr. Collins, who entered the room with an air more stately than usual, and on perceiving whom, she said to the girls, Now I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues and let me and Mr. Collins have a little conversation together. Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room. Jane and Kitty followed, but Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could, and Charlotte, detained first by the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after herself and all her family were very minute, and then, by a little curiosity, satisfied herself with walking to the window and pretending not to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs. Bennet began the projected conversation. Oh, Mr. Collins! My dear madam, replied he, let us be forever silent on this point. Far be it from me, he presently continued, in a voice that marked his displeasure, to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to inevitable evils is the evil duty of us all. The peculiar duty of a young man who has been so fortunate as I have been in early preferment, and I trust I am resigned. Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt of my positive happiness had my fair cousin honoured me with her hand, for I have often observed that resignation is never so perfect as when the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation. You will not, I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect to your family, my dear madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your daughter's favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the compliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in my behalf. My conduct, may I fear, be objectionable in having accepted my dismission from your daughter's lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my manner has been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologise. Elizabeth had only to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily attending it, and occasionally from some peevish illusions of her mother. As for the gentleman himself, his feelings were chiefly expressed, not by embarrassment or rejection, or by trying to avoid her, but by stiffness of manner and resentful silence. He scarcely ever spoke to her, and the assiduous attentions which he had been so sensible of himself, were transferred for the rest of the day to Miss Lucas, whose civility in listening to him was a seasonable relief to them all, and especially to her friend. The morrow produced no abatement to Mrs. Bennet's ill-humour or ill-health. Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did not appear in the least affected by it. He was always to have gone on Saturday, and to Saturday he meant to stay. After breakfast, the girls walked to Merriton to inquire if Mr. Wickham were returned, and to lament over his absence from the Netherfield ball. He joined them on their entering the town, and attended them to their aunts, where his regret and vexation and the concern of everybody was well talked over. To Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily acknowledged that the necessity of his absence had been self-imposed. I found, said he, as the time drew near, that I had better not meet Mr. Darcy, that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear, and that scenes might arise unpleasant to more than myself. She highly approved his forbearance, and they had leisure for a full discussion of it, and for all the commendation which they civilly bestowed on each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back with them to Longbourn, and during the walk he particularly attended to her. His accompanying them was a double advantage. She felt all the compliment it offered to herself, and it was most acceptable as an occasion of introducing him to her father and mother. Soon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet. It came from Netherfield. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with the lady's fair flowing hand, and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as she read it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages. Jane recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join with her usual cheerfulness in the general conversation, but Elizabeth felt an anxiety on the subject, which drew off her attention even from Wickham, and no sooner had he and his companion taken leave than a glance from Jane invited her to follow her upstairs. When they had gained their own room, Jane, taking out the letter, said, This is from Caroline Bingley, what it contains has surprised me a good deal. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time, and are on their way back to town, and without any intention of coming back again. You shall hear what she says. She then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information of their having just resolved to follow their brother to town directly, and of their meaning to dine in Grovemy Street, where Mr. Hurst had a house. The next was in these words, I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hartfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend, but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of that delightful intercourse we have known, and in the meanwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that. To these high-flown expressions Elizabeth listened with all the insensibility of distrust, and though the suddenness of their removal surprised her, she saw nothing in it really to lament. It was not to be supposed that their absence from Netherfield would prevent Mr. Bingley's being there, and as to the loss of their society, she was persuaded that Jane must cease to regard it in the enjoyment of his. It is unlucky, said she, after a short pause, that you should not be able to see your friends before they leave the country. But may we not hope that the period of future happiness to which Miss Bingley looks forward may arrive earlier than she is aware, and that the delightful intercourse you have known as friends will be renewed with yet greater satisfaction as sisters. Mr. Bingley will not be detained in London by them. Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return into Hartfordshire this winter. I will read it to you. When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days. But as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have determined on following him vivid, that he may not be obliged to spend his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintances are already there for the winter. I wish that I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making one of the crowd, but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hartfordshire may abound in the gayities which that season generally brings, and that your bows will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the three of whom we shall deprive you. It is evident by this, added Jane, that he comes back no more this winter. It is only evident that Miss Bingley does not mean that he should. Why will you think so? It must be his own doing. He is his own master. But you do not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from you. Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and, to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments, and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare entertain of her being hereafter, our sister. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already. He will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing. Her relations all wish the connection as much as his own, and a sister's partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman's heart. With all these circumstances to favour an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many? What do you think of this sentence, my dear Lizzie? said Jane, as she finished it. Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister, that she is perfectly convinced of her brother's indifference, and that, if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means most kindly to put me on my guard. Can there be any other opinion on the subject? Yes, there can, for mine is totally different. Will you hear it? Most willingly. You shall have it in a few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you, and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him to town in hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about you. Jane shook her head. Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. No one who has ever seen you together can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley, I am sure, cannot. She is not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy for herself? She would have ordered her wedding clothes. But the case is this. We are not rich enough or grand enough for them, and she is the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the notion that, when there has been one into marriage, she may have less trouble in achieving a second, in which there is certainly more ingenuity, and I dare say it would succeed, if Mr. Berg were out of the way. But, my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine that, because Miss Bingley tells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the smallest degree less sensible of your merit than when he took leave of you on Tuesday, or that it will be in her power to persuade him that, instead of being in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend. If we thought alike of Miss Bingley, replied Jane, your representation of all this might make me quite easy, but I know the foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of willfully deceiving any one, and all that I can hope in this case is that she is deceiving herself. That is right. You could not have started a more happy idea, since you will not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be deceived by all means. You have now done your duty by her, and must fret no longer. But, my dearest sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry elsewhere? You must decide for yourself, said Elizabeth, and if upon mature deliberation you find that the misery of disciplining his two sisters is more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him. How can you talk so? said Jane, faintly smiling. You must know that, though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate. I did not think you would, and that being the case, I cannot consider your situation with much compassion. But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be required. A thousand things may arise in six months. The idea of his returning no more, Elizabeth treated with the utmost contempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion of Caroline's interested wishes, and she could not for a moment suppose that those wishes, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man so totally independent of every one. She represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Jane's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Bingley would return to another field and answer every wish of her heart. They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the family without being alarmed on the score of the gentleman's conduct. But even this partial communication gave her a great deal of concern, and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen to go away just as they were all getting so intimate together. After lamenting it, however, at some length, she had the consolation that Mr. Bingley would soon be down again, and soon dining at Longbourn, and the conclusion of all was the comfortable declaration that, though he had been invited only to a family dinner, she would take care to have two full courses. CHAPTER XXII The Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucuses, and again during the chief of the day was Miss Lucas so kindest to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. It keeps him in good humour, said she, and I am more obliged to you than I can express. Charlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte's kindness extended further than Elizabeth had any conception of. Its object was nothing else than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins's addresses by engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas's scheme, and appearances were so favourable that when they parted at night she would have felt almost secure of success if he had not been to leave Hardwiches so very soon. But here she did injustice to the fire and independence of his character, for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next morning with admirable slinus, and to hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins from a conviction that, if they saw him depart, they could not fail to conjecture his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known till its success might be known likewise. For though feeling almost secure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging, he was con— Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly set out to meet— Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there. In a shorter time, as Mr. Collins's long speeches would allow, everything was settled between them to the satisfaction of both, and as they entered the house, he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was to make him the happiest of men, and though such a solicitation must be waived for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature must guard his courtship from any charm that would make a woman wish for its continuance, and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that establishment were gained. So William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent, and it was bestowed with the most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins's present circumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom they could give little fortune, and his prospects of future wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate, with more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr. Bennett was likely to live. And so William gave it as his decided opinion that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the long-born estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife should make their appearance at St. James. The whole family, in short, were properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have done, and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte's dying and old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had gained her point, and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable. His society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still, he would be her husband. Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, marriage had always been her object. It was the only provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now obtained, and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable circumstance in the business was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennett, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder and probably would blame her, and though her resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt by such a disapprobation. She resolved to give her the information herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins, when he returned to long-born to dinner, to drop no hint of what had passed before any of the family. A promise of secrecy was, of course, very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty, for the curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return, as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love. As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved for the night, and Mrs. Bennett, with great politeness and cordiality, said how happy they should be to see him at long-born again, whenever his engagements might allow him to visit them. My dear madam, he replied, this invitation is particularly gratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive, and you may be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soon as possible." They were all astonished, and Mr. Bennett, who could by no means wish for so speedy a return, immediately said, "'But is there not danger of Lady Catherine's disapprobation here, my good sir? You had better neglect your relations than run the risk of offending your patroness.'" My dear sir, replied Mr. Collins, I am particularly obliged to you for this friendly caution, and you may depend upon my not taking so material a step without her ladyship's concurrence. You cannot be too much upon your guard, risk anything rather than her displeasure, and if you find it likely to be raised by your coming to us again, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home, and be satisfied that we shall take no offence. Give me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such affectionate attention, and depend upon it. You will speedily receive from me a letter of thanks for this, and for every other mark of your regard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, though my absence may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall now take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not accepting my cousin Elizabeth. With proper civilities the ladys then withdrew. All of them equally surprised that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished to understand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of her younger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him. She rated his abilities much higher than any of the others. There was a solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though by no means so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to read and improve himself by such an example as hers, he might become a very agreeable companion. But on the following morning every hope of this kind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast, and in a private conference with Elizabeth related the event of the day before. The possibility of Mr. Collins as fancying himself in love with her friend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two, but that Charlotte could encourage him seemed almost as far from possibility as she could encourage him herself, and her astonishment was consequently so great as to overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and she could not help crying out, Engaged to Mr. Collins? My dear Charlotte, impossible!" The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her story gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a reproach. Though, as it was no more than she expected, she soon regained her composure and calmly replied, Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman's good opinion, because he was not so happy as to succeed with you? But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort for it, was able to assure with tolerable firmness that the prospect of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished her all-imaginable happiness. I see what you are feeling, replied Charlotte. You must be surprised, very much surprised, so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know, I never was. I ask only a comfortable home, and considering Mr. Collins's character, connection, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage-state. Elizabeth quietly answered, undoubtedly. And after an awkward pause they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so unsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins as making two offers of marriage within three days was nothing in comparison of his being now accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she had not supposed it to be possible that, when called into action, she would have sacrificed every better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte, the wife of Mr. Collins, was a most humiliating picture, and to the pang of a friend disgracing herself and sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing conviction that it was impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen. Chapter 23 Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters reflecting on what she had heard, and doubting whether she was authorized to mention it, when Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter, to announce her engagement to the family. With many compliments to them, and much self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the two houses, he unfolded the matter to an audience not merely wondering but incredulous. Vomices Bennet, with more perseverance than politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken, and Lydia, always unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed, Good Lord, Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzie? Nothing less than the complacence of a courtier could have borne without anger such treatment, but Sir William's good breeding carried him through it all, and though he begged leave to be positive as to the truth of his information, he listened to all their impertence with the most forbearing courtesy. Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant a situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account by mentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself, and endeavored to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters by the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she was readily joined by Jane, and by making a variety of remarks on the happiness it might be expected from the match, the excellent character of Mr. Collins, and the convenient distance of Huntsford from London. Mrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpower to say a great deal why Sir William remained, but no sooner had he left them than her feelings found a rapid vent. In the first place she persisted in disbelieving the whole of the matter. Secondly she was very sure that Mr. Collins had been taken in. Thirdly she trusted that they would never be happy together, and fourthly that the match might be broken off. Two inferences, however, were plainly deduced from the whole. One, that Elizabeth was the real cause of the mischief, and the other, that she herself had been barbarously misused by them all, and on these two points she principally dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could console and nothing could appease her, nor did that day wear out her resentment. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without scolding her, a month passed before she could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas without being rude, and many months were gone before she could at all forgive their daughter. Mr. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such as he did experience he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort, for it gratified him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and more foolish than his daughter. Jane confessed herself a little surprised at the match, but she said less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness, nor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty and Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a clergyman, and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news to spread at Mariton. Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort on Mrs. Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well married, and she called it long-born rather oftener than usual to say how happy she was, though Mrs. Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been enough to drive happiness away. Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them mutually silent on the subject, and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her disappointment in Charlotte made her turn with fonder regard to her sister, of whose rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could never be shaken, and for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious, as Bingley had now been gone a week and nothing more was heard of his return. Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and was counting the days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their father, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which at twelve months abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging his conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many rapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection of their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then explained that it was merely with the view of enjoying her society that he had been so ready to close with their kind wish of seeing him again at long-born, whether he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight, for Lady Catherine, he added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it to take place as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable argument with his amiable Charlotte, to name an early day for making him the happiest of men. Mr. Collins' return to Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was as much disposed to complain of it as her husband. It was very strange that he should come to Longbourn instead of Lucas Lodge. It was also very inconvenient and exceedingly troublesome. She hated having visitors in the house while her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs. Bennet, and they gave way only to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley's continued absence. Neither Jane or Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject. Day after day passed away without bringing any other tidings of him, than the report which shortly prevailed in Merriton, of his coming no more to Netherfield the whole winter—a report which highly incensed Mrs. Bennet, and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous falsehood. Even Elizabeth began to fear, not that Bingley wasn't different, but that his sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as she was to admit an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness, and so dishonourable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent its frequent occurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London, might be too much, she feared, for the strength of his attachment. As for Jane, her anxiety under this suspense was, of course, more painful than Elizabeth's. But whatever she felt she was desirous of concealing, and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject was never alluded to. But as no such delicacy restrained her mother, an hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express her impatience for his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that if he did not come back she would think herself very ill-used. It needed all Jane's steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable tranquility. Mr. Collins returned most punctually on Monday fortnight, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention, and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time to make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed. Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of anything concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill-humour, and wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious to her, as her successor in that house she regarded her with jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see them, she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession, and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins was convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband. "'Indeed, Mr. Bennet,' said she, "'it is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take her place in it. My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.' This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and therefore, instead of making any answer, she went on as before. I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate. If it was not for the entail, I should not mind it. What should not you mind?" "'I should not mind anything at all.' "'Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such insensibility.' "'I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for anything about the entail. How any one could have the conscience to entail away an estate from one's own daughters, I cannot understand, and all for the sake of Mr. Collins, too. Why should he have it more than anybody else?' "'I leave it to yourself to determine,' said Mr. Bennet.' End of CHAPTER XXIII