The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits,

in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the

greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had

produced, of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her

sister’s match—which she had feared to encourage, as an exertion of

goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be

just, from the pain of obligation—were proved beyond their greatest

extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken

on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a

research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he

must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently

meet, reason with, persuade, and{400} finally bribe the man whom he always

most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to

pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard

nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it

was a hope shortly checked by other considerations; and she soon felt

that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his

affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to

overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with

Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from

the connection. He had, to be sure, done much. She was ashamed to think

how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no

extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel

he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising

it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement,

she could perhaps believe, that remaining partiality for her might

assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be