With assumed tranquillity he then replied, “I have no wish of denying

that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your

sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been

kinder than towards myself.”
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection,

but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her.
“But it is not merely this affair,” she continued, “on which my dislike

is founded. Long before it had taken{240} place, my opinion of you was

decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received

many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to

say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself?

or under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?”
“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns,” said Darcy,

in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.
“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an

interest in him?”
“His misfortunes!” repeated Darcy, contemptuously,—“yes, his

misfortunes have been great indeed.”
“And of your infliction,” cried Elizabeth, with energy; “You have

reduced him to his present state of poverty—comparative poverty. You

have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed

for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that

independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done

all this! and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with

contempt and ridicule.”
“And this,” cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room,

“is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I

thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this

calculation, are heavy indeed! But, perhaps,” added he, stopping in his

walk, and turning towards her, “these offences might have been

overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the