“In what an amiable light does this place him!” thought Elizabeth.
“This fine account of him,” whispered her aunt as they walked, “is not

quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend.”
“Perhaps we might be deceived.”
“That is not very likely; our authority was too good.{307}”
On reaching the spacious lobby above, they were shown into a very pretty

sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness than

the apartments below; and were informed that it was but just done to

give pleasure to Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking to the room, when

last at Pemberley.
“He is certainly a good brother,” said Elizabeth, as she walked towards

one of the windows.
Mrs. Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy’s delight, when she should enter

the room. “And this is always the way with him,” she added. “Whatever

can give his sister any pleasure, is sure to be done in a moment. There

is nothing he would not do for her.”
The picture gallery, and two or three of the principal bed-rooms, were

all that remained to be shown. In the former were many good paintings:

but Elizabeth knew nothing of the art; and from such as had been already

visible below, she had willingly turned to look at some drawings of Miss

Darcy’s, in crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting, and

also more intelligible.
In the gallery there were many family portraits, but they could have

little to fix the attention of a stranger. Elizabeth walked on in quest

of the only face whose features would be known to her. At last it

arrested her—and she beheld a striking resemblance of Mr. Darcy, with

such a smile over the face, as she remembered to have sometimes seen,

when he looked at her. She stood several minutes before the picture, in

earnest contemplation, and returned to it again before they quitted the

gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them, that it had been taken in his

father’s lifetime.
There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabet{308}h’s mind, a more gentle