she saw, on looking up, that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her.

Putting away the letter immediately, and forcing a smile, she said,—
“I did not know before that you ever walked this way.”
“I have been making the tour of the park,” he replied, “as I generally

do every year, and intended to close it with a call at the Parsonage.

Are you going much farther?”
“No, I should have turned in a moment.”
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage

together.
“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?” said she.
“Yes—if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He

arranges the business just as he pleases.”
“And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least

great pleasure in the power of choice. I{230} do not know anybody who seems

more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.”
“He likes to have his own way very well,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than

many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak

feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and

dependence.”
“In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of

either. Now, seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and

dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going

wherever you chose or procuring anything you had a fancy for?”
“These are home questions—and perhaps I cannot say that I have

experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater

weight, I may suffer from the want of money. Younger sons cannot marry

where they like.”
“Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often

do.”
“Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in

my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to

money.”
“Is this,” thought Elizabeth, “meant for me?” and she coloured at the