him still more; and Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction in

being with him, as well as by his evident admiration, of her former

favourite, George Wickham; and though, in comparing them, she saw there

was less captivating softness in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners, she

believed he might have the best informed mind.
But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsonage it was more difficult

to understand. It could not be for society, as he frequently sat there

ten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak, it

seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice—a sacrifice to

propriety, not a pleasure to himself. He{227} seldom appeared really

animated. Mrs. Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel

Fitzwilliam’s occasionally laughing at his stupidity proved that he was

generally different, which her own knowledge of him could not have told

her; and as she would have liked to believe this change the effect of

love, and the object of that love her friend Eliza, she set herself

seriously to work to find it out: she watched him whenever they were at

Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success. He

certainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that

look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often

doubted whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it

seemed nothing but absence of mind.
She had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of his

being partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the idea; and Mrs.

Collins did not think it right to press the subject, from the danger of

raising expectations which might only end in disappointment; for in her

opinion it admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend’s dislike would

vanish, if she could suppose him to be in her power.
In her kind schemes for Elizabeth, she sometimes planned her marrying

Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was, beyond comparison, the pleasantest man: he