Mr. Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of many years’

continuance. But no such recollection befriended her. She could see him

instantly before her, in every charm of air and address, but she could

remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of the

neighbourhood, and the regard which his social powers had{257} gained him in

the mess. After pausing on this point a considerable while, she once

more continued to read. But, alas! the story which followed, of his

designs on Miss Darcy, received some confirmation from what had passed

between Colonel Fitzwilliam and herself only the morning before; and at

last she was referred for the truth of every particular to Colonel

Fitzwilliam himself—from whom she had previously received the

information of his near concern in all his cousin’s affairs and whose

character she had no reason to question. At one time she had almost

resolved on applying to him, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness

of the application, and at length wholly banished by the conviction that

Mr. Darcy would never have hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been

well assured of his cousin’s corroboration.
She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation

between Wickham and herself in their first evening at Mr. Philips’s.

Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was now

struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and

wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting

himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions

with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear

of seeing Mr. Darcy—that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that

he should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball

the very next week. She remembered, also, that till the Netherfield

family had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but