“As much as I ever wish to be,” cried Elizabeth, warmly. “I have spent

four days in the same house with him, and I think him very

disagreeable.”
“I have no right to give my opinion,” said Wickham, “as to his being

agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him

too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to

be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general

astonish—and, perhaps, you would not express it quite so strongly

anywhere else. Here you are in your own family.”
“Upon my word I say no more here than I might say in any house in the

neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in

Hertfordshire. Everybody is{100} disgusted with his pride. You will not find

him more favourably spoken of by anyone.”
“I cannot pretend to be sorry,” said Wickham, after a short

interruption, “that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond

their deserts; but with him I believe it does not often happen. The

world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his

high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen.”
“I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an

ill-tempered man.”
Wickham only shook his head.
“I wonder,” said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, “whether he is

likely to be in this country much longer.”
“I do not at all know; but I heard nothing of his going away when I

was at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ——shire will

not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.”
“Oh no—it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he

wishes to avoid seeing me he must go. We are not on friendly terms,

and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for

avoiding him but what I might proclaim to all the world—a sense of

very great ill-usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is.

His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men