“MY dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?” was a question

which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered the room, and

from all the others when they sat down to table. She had only to say in

reply, that{458} they had wandered about till she was beyond her own

knowledge. She coloured as she spoke; but neither that, nor anything

else, awakened a suspicion of the truth.
The evening passed quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. The

acknowledged lovers talked and laughed; the unacknowledged were silent.

Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth;

and Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather knew that she was happy

than felt herself to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment,

there were other evils before her. She anticipated what would be felt in

the family when her situation became known: she was aware that no one

liked him but Jane; and even feared that with the others it was a

dislike which not all his fortune and consequence might do away.
At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far

from Miss Bennet’s general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here.
“You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be! Engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no,

you shall not deceive me: I know it to be impossible.”
“This is a wretched beginning, indeed! My sole dependence was on you;

and I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I

am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we

are engaged.”
Jane looked at her doubtingly. “Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much

you dislike him.”
“You know nothing of the matter. That is all to be forgot. Perhaps I

did not always love him so well as I do now; but in such cases as these

a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever

remember it myself.{459}”
Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and more

seriously, assured her of its truth.