wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But though

everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him

by any sigh of repentance; and rather looked with wonder at her friend,

that she could have so cheerful an air with such a companion. When Mr.

Collins said anything of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed,

which certainly was not seldom, she involuntarily turned her eye on

Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but in general

Charlotte{196} wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to admire

every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the

fender, to give an account of their journey, and of all that had

happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the

garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of

which he attended himself. To work in his garden was one of his most

respectable pleasures; and Elizabeth admired the command of countenance

with which Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and

owned she encouraged it as much as possible. Here, leading the way

through every walk and cross walk, and scarcely allowing them an

interval to utter the praises he asked for, every view was pointed out

with a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He could number the

fields in every direction, and could tell how many trees there were in

the most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden, or which

the country or the kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with

the prospect of Rosings, afforded by an opening in the trees that

bordered the park nearly opposite the front of his house. It was a

handsome modern building, well situated on rising ground.
From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows;

but the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white

frost, turned back; and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte