On the very last day of the regiment’s remaining in Meryton, he dined,

with others of the officers, at Longbourn; and so little was Elizabeth

disposed to part from him in good-humour, that, on his making some

inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she

mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam’s and Mr. Darcy’s having both spent three

weeks at Rosings, and asked him if he were acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but, with a moment’s

recollection, and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly seen

him often; and, after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man,

asked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in{292} his favour.

With an air of indifference, he soon afterwards added, “How long did you

say that he was at Rosings?”
“Nearly three weeks.”
“And you saw him frequently?”
“Yes, almost every day.”
“His manners are very different from his cousin’s.”
“Yes, very different; but I think Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance.”
“Indeed!” cried Wickham, with a look which did not escape her. “And pray

may I ask—” but checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone, “Is it in

address that he improves? Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his

ordinary style? for I dare not hope,” he continued, in a lower and more

serious tone, “that he is improved in essentials.”
“Oh, no!” said Elizabeth. “In essentials, I believe, he is very much

what he ever was.”
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to

rejoice over her words or to distrust their meaning. There was a

something in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive

and anxious attention, while she added,—
“When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that

either his mind or manners were in a state of improvement; but that,

from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood.”
Wickham’s alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated