surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of

his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the

appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed

himself to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth’s feelings

dreadful. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,—
“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I

might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at

civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.”
“I might as well inquire,” replied she, “why, with so evident a design

of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me

against your will, against your reason, and even against your character?

Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have

other provocations. You know I have.{239} Had not my own feelings decided

against you, had they been indifferent, or had they even been

favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept

the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the

happiness of a most beloved sister?”
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion

was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she

continued,—
“I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can

excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not,

you cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means

of dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the censure of the

world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for

disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest

kind.”
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening

with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse.

He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.
“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.