particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed

that there was much affection in the case.”
“That is not an unnatural surmise,” said Fitzwilliam; “but it is

lessening the honour of my cousin’s triumph very sadly.”
This was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a picture of

Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer; and,

therefore, abruptly changing the conversation, talked on indifferent

matters till they reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room,

as soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption

of all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other

people could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There

could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have

such boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures

taken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never doubted; but she

had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and

arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him,

he was the cause—his pride and caprice were the cause—of all that

Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a

while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart

in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have

inflicted.{234}
“There were some very strong objections against the lady,” were Colonel

Fitzwilliam’s words; and these strong objections probably were, her

having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in

business in London.
“To Jane herself,” she exclaimed, “there could be no possibility of

objection,—all loveliness and goodness as she is! Her understanding

excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could

anything be urged against my father, who, though with some

peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain,