Chapter: Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had
been but little assisted by education or society; the greatest part of
his life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and
miserly father; and though he belonged to one of the universities, he
had merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any useful
acquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought him up, had
given him originally great humility of manner, but it was now a good
deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in
retirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected
prosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de
Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he
felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness,
mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a
clergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of
pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.

Having now a good house and very sufficient income, he intended to
marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had
a wife in view, as he meant to chuse one of the daughters, if he found
them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report.
This was his plan of amends--of atonement--for inheriting their father's
estate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and
suitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own
part.

His plan did not vary on seeing them.--Miss Bennet's lovely face
confirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of what
was due to seniority; and for the first evening _she_ was his settled
choice. The next morning, however, made an alteration; for in a quarter
of an hour's tete-a-tete with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a
conversation beginning with his parsonage-house, and leading naturally
to the avowal of his hopes, that a mistress for it might be found at
Longbourn, produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general
encouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on.--"As to
her _younger_ daughters she could not take upon her to say--she could
not positively answer--but she did not _know_ of any prepossession;--her
_eldest_ daughter, she must just mention--she felt it incumbent on her
to hint, was likely to be very soon engaged."

Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth--and it was soon
done--done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equally
next to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded her of course.

Mrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might soon have
two daughters married; and the man whom she could not bear to speak of
the day before, was now high in her good graces.

Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister
except Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attend them,
at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get rid of him,
and have his library to himself; for thither Mr. Collins had followed
him after breakfast, and there he would continue, nominally engaged with
one of the largest folios in the collection, but really talking to Mr.
Bennet, with little cessation, of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such
doings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been
always sure of leisure and tranquillity; and though prepared, as he told
Elizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit in every other room in the
house, he was used to be free from them there; his civility, therefore,
was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters in their
walk; and Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fitted for a walker
than a reader, was extremely well pleased to close his large book, and
go.

In pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that of his
cousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The attention of
the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by _him_. Their eyes
were immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers,
and nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin
in a shop window, could recal them.

But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom
they had never seen before, of most gentleman-like appearance, walking
with an officer on the other side of the way. The officer was the very
Mr. Denny, concerning whose return from London Lydia came to inquire,
and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the stranger's air,
all wondered who he could be, and Kitty and Lydia, determined if
possible to find out, led the way across the street, under pretence of
wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained
the pavement when the two gentlemen turning back had reached the same
spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated permission to
introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him the day
before from town, and he was happy to say had accepted a commission in
their corps. This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted
only regimentals to make him completely charming. His appearance was
greatly in his favour; he had all the best part of beauty, a fine
countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction
was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation--a
readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the
whole party were still standing and talking together very agreeably,
when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were
seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group,
the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual
civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the
principal object. He was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on
purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and
was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they
were suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth
happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other,
was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour,
one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments,
touched his hat--a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return.
What could be the meaning of it?--It was impossible to imagine; it was
impossible not to long to know.

In another minute Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what
passed, took leave and rode on with his friend.

Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of
Mr. Philips's house, and then made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydia's
pressing entreaties that they would come in, and even in spite of Mrs.
Philips' throwing up the parlour window, and loudly seconding the
invitation.

Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces, and the two eldest, from
their recent absence, were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly
expressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which, as their own
carriage had not fetched them, she should have known nothing about, if
she had not happened to see Mr. Jones's shop boy in the street, who had
told her that they were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield
because the Miss Bennets were come away, when her civility was claimed
towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction of him. She received him with
her very best politeness, which he returned with as much more,
apologising for his intrusion, without any previous acquaintance with
her, which he could not help flattering himself however might be
justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced him to
her notice. Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good
breeding; but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put an end to
by exclamations and inquiries about the other, of whom, however, she
could only tell her nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had
brought him from London, and that he was to have a lieutenant's
commission in the ----shire. She had been watching him the last hour,
she said, as he walked up and down the street, and had Mr. Wickham
appeared Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the occupation,
but unluckily no one passed the windows now except a few of the
officers, who in comparison with the stranger, were become "stupid,
disagreeable fellows." Some of them were to dine with the Philipses the
next day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr.
Wickham, and give him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn
would come in the evening. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Philips
protested that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery
tickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such
delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr.
Collins repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured
with unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless.

As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass
between the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have defended either or
both, had they appeared to be wrong, she could no more explain such
behaviour than her sister.

Mr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs.
Philips's manners and politeness. He protested that except Lady
Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman; for
she had not only received him with the utmost civility, but had even
pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although
utterly unknown to her before. Something he supposed might be attributed
to his connection with them, but yet he had never met with so much
attention in the whole course of his life.





As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their
aunt, and all Mr. Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for
a single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach
conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and the
girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room,
that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then in
the house.

When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr.
Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire, and he was so much
struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared he
might almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast parlour
at Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey much
gratification; but when Mrs. Philips understood from him what Rosings
was, and who was its proprietor, when she had listened to the
description of only one of Lady Catherine's drawing-rooms, and found
that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt all
the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison
with the housekeeper's room.

In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion,
with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and the
improvements it was receiving, he was happily employed until the
gentlemen joined them; and he found in Mrs. Philips a very attentive
listener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she
heard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as
soon as she could. To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin,
and who had nothing to do but to wish for an instrument, and examine
their own indifferent imitations of china on the mantle-piece, the
interval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last however. The
gentlemen did approach; and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room,
Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinking
of him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. The
officers of the ----shire were in general a very creditable,
gentleman-like set, and the best of them were of the present party; but
Mr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and
walk, as _they_ were superior to the broad-faced stuffy uncle Philips,
breathing port wine, who followed them into the room.

Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was
turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated
himself; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into
conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, and on the
probability of a rainy season, made her feel that the commonest,
dullest, most thread-bare topic might be rendered interesting by the
skill of the speaker.

With such rivals for the notice of the fair, as Mr. Wickham and the
officers, Mr. Collins seemed likely to sink into insignificance; to the
young ladies he certainly was nothing; but he had still at intervals a
kind listener in Mrs. Philips, and was, by her watchfulness, most
abundantly supplied with coffee and muffin.

When the card tables were placed, he had an opportunity of obliging her
in return, by sitting down to whist.

"I know little of the game, at present," said he, "but I shall be glad
to improve myself, for in my situation of life----" Mrs. Philips was
very thankful for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.

Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he
received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there
seemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely, for she was a most
determined talker; but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets,
she soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making bets
and exclaiming after prizes, to have attention for any one in
particular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was
therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing to
hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to
be told, the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She dared not
even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity however was unexpectedly
relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how far
Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in
an hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.

"About a month," said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subject
drop, added, "He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I
understand."

"Yes," replied Wickham;--"his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten
thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of
giving you certain information on that head than myself--for I have been
connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy."

Elizabeth could not but look surprised.

"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after
seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting
yesterday.--Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"

"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabeth warmly,--"I have spent
four days in the same house with him, and I think him very
disagreeable."

"I have no right to give _my_ opinion," said Wickham, "as to his being
agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him
too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for _me_ to
be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general
astonish--and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly
anywhere else.--Here you are in your own family."

"Upon my word I say no more _here_ than I might say in any house in the
neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in
Hertfordshire. Every body is disgusted with his pride. You will not find
him more favourably spoken of by any one."

"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said Wickham, after a short
interruption, "that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond
their deserts; but with _him_ I believe it does not often happen. The
world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his
high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chuses to be seen."

"I should take him, even on _my_ slight acquaintance, to be an
ill-tempered man." Wickham only shook his head.

"I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, "whether he is
likely to be in this country much longer."

"I do not at all know; but I _heard_ nothing of his going away when I
was at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire will
not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood."

"Oh! no--it is not for _me_ to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If _he_
wishes to avoid seeing _me_, he must go. We are not on friendly terms,
and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for
avoiding _him_ but what I might proclaim to all the world; a sense of
very great ill usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is.
His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men
that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never be
in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a
thousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has been
scandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him any thing and every
thing, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory
of his father."

Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with
all her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented farther inquiry.

Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the
neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he
had yet seen, and speaking of the latter especially, with gentle but
very intelligible gallantry.

"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society," he added,
"which was my chief inducement to enter the ----shire. I knew it to be a
most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me
farther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great
attentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them.
Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and
my spirits will not bear solitude. I _must_ have employment and society.
A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have
now made it eligible. The church _ought_ to have been my profession--I
was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in
possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we
were speaking of just now."

"Indeed!"

"Yes--the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best
living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me.
I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply,
and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given
elsewhere."

"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but how could _that_ be?--How could
his will be disregarded?--Why did not you seek legal redress?"

"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to
give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the
intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it--or to treat it as a merely
conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim
to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short any thing or nothing.
Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I
was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no
less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done
any thing to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I
may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion _of_ him, and _to_ him, too
freely. I can recal nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very
different sort of men, and that he hates me."

"This is quite shocking!--He deserves to be publicly disgraced."

"Some time or other he _will_ be--but it shall not be by _me_. Till I
can forget his father, I can never defy or expose _him_."

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than
ever as he expressed them.

"But what," said she, after a pause, "can have been his motive?--what
can have induced him to behave so cruelly?"

"A thorough, determined dislike of me--a dislike which I cannot but
attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me
less, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon
attachment to me, irritated him I believe very early in life. He had not
a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood--the sort of
preference which was often given me."

"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this--though I have never liked
him, I had not thought so very ill of him--I had supposed him to be
despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of
descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as
this!"

After a few minutes reflection, however, she continued, "I _do_ remember
his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his
resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must
be dreadful."

"I will not trust myself on the subject," replied Wickham, "_I_ can
hardly be just to him."

Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, "To
treat in such a manner, the god-son, the friend, the favourite of his
father!"--She could have added, "A young man too, like _you_, whose very
countenance may vouch for your being amiable"--but she contented
herself with "And one, too, who had probably been his own companion from
childhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closest
manner!"

"We were born in the same parish, within the same park, the greatest
part of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house,
sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. _My_
father began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr. Philips,
appears to do so much credit to--but he gave up every thing to be of use
to the late Mr. Darcy, and devoted all his time to the care of the
Pemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most
intimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself to
be under the greatest obligations to my father's active superintendance,
and when immediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcy gave him a
voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to
be as much a debt of gratitude to _him_, as of affection to myself."

"How strange!" cried Elizabeth. "How abominable!--I wonder that the very
pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you!--If from no better
motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest,--for
dishonesty I must call it."

"It _is_ wonderful,"--replied Wickham,--"for almost all his actions may
be traced to pride;--and pride has often been his best friend. It has
connected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are none
of us consistent; and in his behaviour to me, there were stronger
impulses even than pride."

"Can such abominable pride as his, have ever done him good?"

"Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous,--to give his
money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve
the poor. Family pride, and _filial_ pride, for he is very proud of what
his father was, have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to
degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the
Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also _brotherly_ pride,
which with _some_ brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful
guardian of his sister; and you will hear him generally cried up as the
most attentive and best of brothers."

"What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?"

He shook his head.--"I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain
to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother,--very,
very proud.--As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and
extremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her
amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about
fifteen or sixteen, and I understand highly accomplished. Since her
father's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her,
and superintends her education."

After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not
help reverting once more to the first, and saying,

"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley,
who seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable,
be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other?--Do you
know Mr. Bingley?"

"Not at all."

"He is a sweet tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr.
Darcy is."

"Probably not;--but Mr. Darcy can please where he chuses. He does not
want abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth
his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a
very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride
never deserts him; but with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just,
sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable,--allowing
something for fortune and figure."

The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered round
the other table, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin
Elizabeth and Mrs. Philips.--The usual inquiries as to his success were
made by the latter. It had not been very great; he had lost every point;
but when Mrs. Philips began to express her concern thereupon, he assured
her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance,
that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged she would not
make herself uneasy.

"I know very well, madam," said he, "that when persons sit down to a
card table, they must take their chance of these things,--and happily I
am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There
are undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady
Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding
little matters."

Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins for
a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation
were very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "has very lately given him a
living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her
notice, but he certainly has not known her long."

"You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy
were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy."

"No, indeed, I did not.--I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's
connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before
yesterday."

"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is
believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates."

This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss
Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless her
affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were already
self-destined to another.

"Mr. Collins," said she, "speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her
daughter; but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship,
I suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his
patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman."

"I believe her to be both in a great degree," replied Wickham; "I have
not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked
her, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the
reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever; but I rather believe
she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from
her authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride of her nephew, who
chuses that every one connected with him should have an understanding of
the first class."

Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and
they continued talking together with mutual satisfaction till supper put
an end to cards; and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr.
Wickham's attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise of
Mrs. Philips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to every
body. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done
gracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could
think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all
the way home; but there was not time for her even to mention his name as
they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydia
talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the
fish she had won, and Mr. Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. and
Mrs. Philips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses
at whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing
that he crouded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage
before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.





Elizabeth related to Jane the next day, what had passed between Mr.
Wickham and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern;--she
knew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr.
Bingley's regard; and yet, it was not in her nature to question the
veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham.--The
possibility of his having really endured such unkindness, was enough to
interest all her tender feelings; and nothing therefore remained to be
done, but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and
throw into the account of accident or mistake, whatever could not be
otherwise explained.

"They have both," said she, "been deceived, I dare say, in some way or
other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps
misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to
conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them,
without actual blame on either side."

"Very true, indeed;--and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say in
behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the
business?--Do clear _them_ too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of
somebody."

"Laugh as much as you chuse, but you will not laugh me out of my
opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light
it places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father's favourite in such a
manner,--one, whom his father had promised to provide for.--It is
impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his
character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so
excessively deceived in him? oh! no."

"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on, than
that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me
last night; names, facts, every thing mentioned without ceremony.--If it
be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his
looks."

"It is difficult indeed--it is distressing.--One does not know what to
think."

"I beg your pardon;--one knows exactly what to think."

But Jane could think with certainty on only one point,--that Mr.
Bingley, if he _had been_ imposed on, would have much to suffer when the
affair became public.

The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery where this
conversation passed, by the arrival of some of the very persons of whom
they had been speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give their
personal invitation for the long expected ball at Netherfield, which was
fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see
their dear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and
repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their
separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention;
avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth,
and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone again, rising from
their seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise, and
hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.

The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every
female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in
compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by
receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a
ceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the
society of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother; and
Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr.
Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of every thing in Mr. Darcy's
looks and behaviour. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia,
depended less on any single event, or any particular person, for though
they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr.
Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and
a ball was at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family
that she had no disinclination for it.

"While I can have my mornings to myself," said she, "it is enough.--I
think it no sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements.
Society has claims on us all; and I profess myself one of those who
consider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for every
body."

Elizabeth's spirits were so high on the occasion, that though she did
not often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking
him whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's invitation, and if he
did, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening's
amusement; and she was rather surprised to find that he entertained no
scruple whatever on that head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke
either from the Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to
dance.

"I am by no means of opinion, I assure you," said he, "that a ball of
this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can
have any evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting to dancing myself
that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins
in the course of the evening, and I take this opportunity of soliciting
yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially,--a
preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right
cause, and not to any disrespect for her."

Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully proposed being
engaged by Wickham for those very dances:--and to have Mr. Collins
instead! her liveliness had been never worse timed. There was no help
for it however. Mr. Wickham's happiness and her own was per force
delayed a little longer, and Mr. Collins's proposal accepted with as
good a grace as she could. She was not the better pleased with his
gallantry, from the idea it suggested of something more.--It now first
struck her, that _she_ was selected from among her sisters as worthy of
being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a
quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors.
The idea soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing
civilities toward herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a
compliment on her wit and vivacity; and though more astonished than
gratified herself, by this effect of her charms, it was not long before
her mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage
was exceedingly agreeable to _her_. Elizabeth however did not chuse to
take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the
consequence of any reply. Mr. Collins might never make the offer, and
till he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.

If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, the
younger Miss Bennets would have been in a pitiable state at this time,
for from the day of the invitation, to the day of the ball, there was
such a succession of rain as prevented their walking to Meryton once. No
aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after;--the very shoe-roses
for Netherfield were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth might have found some
trial of her patience in weather, which totally suspended the
improvement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham; and nothing less than
a dance on Tuesday, could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday and
Monday, endurable to Kitty and Lydia.





Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield and looked in
vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a
doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of
meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that
might not unreasonably have alarmed her. She had dressed with more than
usual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all
that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more than
might be won in the course of the evening. But in an instant arose the
dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy's
pleasure in the Bingleys' invitation to the officers; and though this
was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was
pronounced by his friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and
who told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business
the day before, and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant
smile,

"I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if
he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here."

This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught by
Elizabeth, and as it assured her that Darcy was not less answerable for
Wickham's absence than if her first surmise had been just, every feeling
of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate
disappointment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to
the polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to
make.--Attention, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to
Wickham. She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and
turned away with a degree of ill humour, which she could not wholly
surmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind partiality
provoked her.

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every prospect
of her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on her
spirits; and having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had
not seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to
the oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular
notice. The two first dances, however, brought a return of distress;
they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn,
apologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being
aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable
partner for a couple of dances can give. The moment of her release from
him was ecstacy.

She danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of talking of
Wickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked. When those dances
were over she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with
her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took
her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without
knowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away again
immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of
mind; Charlotte tried to console her.

"I dare say you will find him very agreeable."

"Heaven forbid!--_That_ would be the greatest misfortune of all!--To
find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!--Do not wish me
such an evil."

When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her
hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a whisper not to be a
simpleton and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant
in the eyes of a man of ten times his consequence. Elizabeth made no
answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to which
she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and
reading in her neighbours' looks their equal amazement in beholding it.
They stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to
imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances, and at
first was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would
be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she made
some slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent.
After a pause of some minutes she addressed him a second time with

"It is _your_ turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.--_I_ talked about
the dance, and _you_ ought to make some kind of remark on the size of
the room, or the number of couples."

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be
said.

"Very well.--That reply will do for the present.--Perhaps by and bye I
may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public
ones.--But _now_ we may be silent."

"Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"

"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be
entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of
_some_, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the
trouble of saying as little as possible."

"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you
imagine that you are gratifying mine?"

"Both," replied Elizabeth archly; "for I have always seen a great
similarity in the turn of our minds.--We are each of an unsocial,
taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say
something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to
posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."

"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,"
said he. "How near it may be to _mine_, I cannot pretend to say.--_You_
think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."

"I must not decide on my own performance."

He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down
the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often
walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist
the temptation, added, "When you met us there the other day, we had just
been forming a new acquaintance."

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his
features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself
for her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a
constrained manner said,

"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his
_making_ friends--whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them,
is less certain."

"He has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship," replied Elizabeth
with emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all
his life."

Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject. At
that moment Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass
through the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Mr.
Darcy he stopt with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his
dancing and his partner.

"I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. Such very
superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the
first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not
disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated,
especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, (glancing
at her sister and Bingley,) shall take place. What congratulations will
then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy:--but let me not interrupt you,
Sir.--You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching
converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me."

The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir
William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his
eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and
Jane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however, shortly,
he turned to his partner, and said,

"Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of."

"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have
interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for
themselves.--We have tried two or three subjects already without
success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine."

"What think you of books?" said he, smiling.

"Books--Oh! no.--I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same
feelings."

"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be
no want of subject.--We may compare our different opinions."

"No--I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of
something else."

"The _present_ always occupies you in such scenes--does it?" said he,
with a look of doubt.

"Yes, always," she replied, without knowing what she said, for her
thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared
by her suddenly exclaiming, "I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy,
that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was
unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its _being
created_."

"I am," said he, with a firm voice.

"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

"I hope not."

"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion,
to be secure of judging properly at first."

"May I ask to what these questions tend?"

"Merely to the illustration of _your_ character," said she, endeavouring
to shake off her gravity. "I am trying to make it out."

"And what is your success?"

She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different
accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."

"I can readily believe," answered he gravely, "that report may vary
greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were
not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to
fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either."

"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another
opportunity."

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he coldly replied.
She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in
silence; on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for
in Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her,
which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against
another.

They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with
an expression of civil disdain thus accosted her,

"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George
Wickham!--Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a
thousand questions; and I find that the young man forgot to tell you,
among his other communications, that he was the son of old Wickham, the
late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend,
not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr.
Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he
has been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has
treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the
particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to
blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and that
though my brother thought he could not well avoid including him in his
invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had
taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all, is a
most insolent thing indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it.
I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite's guilt;
but really considering his descent, one could not expect much better."

"His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same," said
Elizabeth angrily; "for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse
than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and of _that_, I can
assure you, he informed me himself."

"I beg your pardon," replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer.
"Excuse my interference.--It was kindly meant."

"Insolent girl!" said Elizabeth to herself.--"You are much mistaken if
you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see
nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr.
Darcy." She then sought her eldest sister, who had undertaken to make
inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of
such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently
marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the
evening.--Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment
solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and every thing
else gave way before the hope of Jane's being in the fairest way for
happiness.

"I want to know," said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her
sister's, "what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have
been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person; in which case
you may be sure of my pardon."

"No," replied Jane, "I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing
satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his
history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have
principally offended Mr. Darcy; but he will vouch for the good conduct,
the probity and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that
Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has
received; and I am sorry to say that by his account as well as his
sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am
afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's
regard."

"Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?"

"No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton."

"This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am
perfectly satisfied. But what does he say of the living?"

"He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard
them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to
him _conditionally_ only."

"I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's sincerity," said Elizabeth warmly;
"but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr.
Bingley's defence of his friend was a very able one I dare say, but
since he is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt
the rest from that friend himself, I shall venture still to think of
both gentlemen as I did before."

She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on
which there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened with
delight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of
Bingley's regard, and said all in her power to heighten her confidence
in it. On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew
to Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last
partner she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them and
told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as to
make a most important discovery.

"I have found out," said he, "by a singular accident, that there is now
in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the
gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of
this house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother
Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would
have thought of my meeting with--perhaps--a nephew of Lady Catherine de
Bourgh in this assembly!--I am most thankful that the discovery is made
in time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do,
and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total
ignorance of the connection must plead my apology."

"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?"

"Indeed I am. I shall intreat his pardon for not having done it earlier.
I believe him to be Lady Catherine's _nephew_. It will be in my power to
assure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se'night."

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme; assuring him
that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as
an impertinent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aunt; that it
was not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either
side, and that if it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in
consequence, to begin the acquaintance.--Mr. Collins listened to her
with the determined air of following his own inclination, and when she
ceased speaking, replied thus,

"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your
excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your
understanding, but permit me to say that there must be a wide difference
between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those
which regulate the clergy; for give me leave to observe that I consider
the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank
in the kingdom--provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the
same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates
of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look
on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your
advice, which on every other subject shall be my constant guide, though
in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and
habitual study to decide on what is right than a young lady like
yourself." And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, whose
reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at
being so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with
a solemn bow, and though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if
hearing it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the words "apology,"
"Hunsford," and "Lady Catherine de Bourgh."--It vexed her to see him
expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained
wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak, replied
with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not
discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed
abundantly increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the
end of it he only made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr.
Collins then returned to Elizabeth.

"I have no reason, I assure you," said he, "to be dissatisfied with my
reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered
me with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying,
that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine's discernment as to be
certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily. It was really a very
handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him."

As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned
her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley, and the
train of agreeable reflections which her observations gave birth to,
made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She saw her in idea settled in
that very house in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection
could bestow; and she felt capable under such circumstances, of
endeavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters. Her mother's thoughts
she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to
venture near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat down to
supper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky perverseness which
placed them within one of each other; and deeply was she vexed to find
that her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas) freely,
openly, and of nothing else but of her expectation that Jane would be
soon married to Mr. Bingley.--It was an animating subject, and Mrs.
Bennet seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of
the match. His being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living
but three miles from them, were the first points of self-gratulation;
and then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of
Jane, and to be certain that they must desire the connection as much as
she could do. It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger
daughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of
other rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be
able to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister, that
she might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. It was
necessary to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure, because on
such occasions it is the etiquette; but no one was less likely than Mrs.
Bennet to find comfort in staying at home at any period of her life. She
concluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally
fortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there was no
chance of it.

In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother's
words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible
whisper; for to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that the
chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Her
mother only scolded her for being nonsensical.

"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am
sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say
nothing _he_ may not like to hear."

"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower.--What advantage can it be to you
to offend Mr. Darcy?--You will never recommend yourself to his friend by
so doing."

Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother
would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed
and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently
glancing her eye at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what
she dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother, she was
convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression
of his face changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and
steady gravity.

At length however Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Lady Lucas, who
had been long yawning at the repetition of delights which she saw no
likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken.
Elizabeth now began to revive. But not long was the interval of
tranquillity; for when supper was over, singing was talked of, and she
had the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty,
preparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent
entreaties, did she endeavour to prevent such a proof of
complaisance,--but in vain; Mary would not understand them; such an
opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song.
Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations; and she
watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience
which was very ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving
amongst the thanks of the table, the hint of a hope that she might be
prevailed on to favour them again, after the pause of half a minute
began another. Mary's powers were by no means fitted for such a display;
her voice was weak, and her manner affected.--Elizabeth was in agonies.
She looked at Jane, to see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly
talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making
signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued however
impenetrably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his
interference, lest Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint,
and when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud,

"That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough.
Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit."

Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted; and
Elizabeth sorry for her, and sorry for her father's speech, was afraid
her anxiety had done no good.--Others of the party were now applied to.

"If I," said Mr. Collins, "were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I
should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an
air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly
compatible with the profession of a clergyman.--I do not mean however to
assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to
music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The
rector of a parish has much to do.--In the first place, he must make
such an agreement for tythes as may be beneficial to himself and not
offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time
that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care
and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making
as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance
that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards every
body, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot
acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should
omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards any body connected
with the family." And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech,
which had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room.--Many
stared.--Many smiled; but no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet
himself, while his wife seriously commended Mr. Collins for having
spoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that
he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.

To Elizabeth it appeared, that had her family made an agreement to
expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would
have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit, or
finer success; and happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister
that some of the exhibition had escaped his notice, and that his
feelings were not of a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he
must have witnessed. That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however, should
have such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations was bad enough, and
she could not determine whether the silent contempt of the gentleman, or
the insolent smiles of the ladies, were more intolerable.

The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teazed by
Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her side, and though he
could not prevail with her to dance with him again, put it out of her
power to dance with others. In vain did she entreat him to stand up with
somebody else, and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room.
He assured her that as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to it;
that his chief object was by delicate attentions to recommend himself to
her, and that he should therefore make a point of remaining close to her
the whole evening. There was no arguing upon such a project. She owed
her greatest relief to her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and
good-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins's conversation to herself.

She was at least free from the offence of Mr. Darcy's farther notice;
though often standing within a very short distance of her, quite
disengaged, he never came near enough to speak. She felt it to be the
probable consequence of her allusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in
it.

The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart; and by a
manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet had to wait for their carriages a quarter of
an hour after every body else was gone, which gave them time to see how
heartily they were wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her
sister scarcely opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue, and
were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They repulsed
every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation, and by so doing, threw a
languor over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the
long speeches of Mr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his
sisters on the elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and
politeness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said
nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying the scene.
Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little detached from the
rest, and talked only to each other. Elizabeth preserved as steady a
silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even Lydia was too
much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of "Lord,
how tired I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn.

When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly
civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn; and
addressed herself particularly to Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy
he would make them, by eating a family dinner with them at any time,
without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful
pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of
waiting on her, after his return from London, whither he was obliged to
go the next day for a short time.

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied; and quitted the house under the
delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations of
settlements, new carriages and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly
see her daughter settled at Netherfield, in the course of three or four
months. Of having another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought
with equal certainty, and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure.
Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children; and though the
man and the match were quite good enough for _her_, the worth of each
was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.





The next day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his
declaration in form. Having resolved to do it without loss of time, as
his leave of absence extended only to the following Saturday, and having
no feelings of diffidence to make it distressing to himself even at the
moment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with all the
observances which he supposed a regular part of the business. On finding
Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together, soon
after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words,

"May I hope, Madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth,
when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the
course of this morning?"

Before Elizabeth had time for any thing but a blush of surprise, Mrs.
Bennet instantly answered,

"Oh dear!--Yes--certainly.--I am sure Lizzy will be very happy--I am
sure she can have no objection.--Come, Kitty, I want you up stairs." And
gathering her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth
called out,

"Dear Ma'am, do not go.--I beg you will not go.--Mr. Collins must excuse
me.--He can have nothing to say to me that any body need not hear. I am
going away myself."

"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy.--I desire you will stay where you are."--And
upon Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed and embarrassed looks, about
to escape, she added, "Lizzy, I _insist_ upon your staying and hearing
Mr. Collins."

Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction--and a moment's
consideration making her also sensible that it would be wisest to get it
over as soon and as quietly as possible, she sat down again, and tried
to conceal by incessant employment the feelings which were divided
between distress and diversion. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as
soon as they were gone Mr. Collins began.

"Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from
doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You
would have been less amiable in my eyes had there _not_ been this little
unwillingness; but allow me to assure you that I have your respected
mother's permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport
of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to
dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as
soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my
future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this
subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for
marrying--and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of
selecting a wife, as I certainly did."

The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away
with by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not
use the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him farther, and
he continued:

"My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for
every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example
of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add
very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly--which perhaps I ought to have
mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation
of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.
Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked too!) on this
subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left
Hunsford--between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was
arranging Miss de Bourgh's foot-stool, that she said, 'Mr. Collins, you
must marry. A clergyman like you must marry.--Chuse properly, chuse a
gentlewoman for _my_ sake; and for your _own_, let her be an active,
useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small
income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as
you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.' Allow me, by the
way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and
kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the
advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond any
thing I can describe; and your wit and vivacity I think must be
acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect
which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general
intention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views
were directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I
assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that
being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured
father, (who, however, may live many years longer,) I could not satisfy
myself without resolving to chuse a wife from among his daughters, that
the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy
event takes place--which, however, as I have already said, may not be
for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I
flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing
remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the
violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and
shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well
aware that it could not be complied with; and that one thousand pounds
in the 4 per cents. which will not be yours till after your mother's
decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head,
therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that
no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married."

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

"You are too hasty, Sir," she cried. "You forget that I have made no
answer. Let me do it without farther loss of time. Accept my thanks for
the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of
your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline
them."

"I am not now to learn," replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the
hand, "that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the
man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their
favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a
third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just
said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long."

"Upon my word, Sir," cried Elizabeth, "your hope is rather an
extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not
one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so
daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second
time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal.--You could not make _me_
happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who
would make _you_ so.--Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I
am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the
situation."

"Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so," said Mr. Collins
very gravely--"but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all
disapprove of you. And you may be certain that when I have the honour of
seeing her again I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty,
economy, and other amiable qualifications."

"Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must
give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of
believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by
refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise.
In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your
feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn
estate whenever it falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may be
considered, therefore, as finally settled." And rising as she thus
spoke, she would have quitted the room, had not Mr. Collins thus
addressed her,

"When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on this subject I
shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given
me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I
know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the
first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to
encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the
female character."

"Really, Mr. Collins," cried Elizabeth with some warmth, "you puzzle me
exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form
of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as
may convince you of its being one."

"You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your
refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for
believing it are briefly these:--It does not appear to me that my hand
is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would
be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections
with the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are
circumstances highly in my favour; and you should take it into farther
consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no
means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your
portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the
effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must
therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I
shall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by
suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."

"I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind
of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would
rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you
again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but
to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect
forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant
female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the
truth from her heart."

"You are uniformly charming!" cried he, with an air of awkward
gallantry; "and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express
authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of
being acceptable."

To such perseverance in wilful self-deception Elizabeth would make no
reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew; determined, if he
persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering
encouragement, to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered
in such a manner as must be decisive, and whose behaviour at least could
not be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female.





Mr. Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his
successful love; for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule
to watch for the end of the conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open the
door and with quick step pass her towards the staircase, than she
entered the breakfast-room, and congratulated both him and herself in
warm terms on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Mr. Collins
received and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and then
proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with the result
of which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied, since the
refusal which his cousin had steadfastly given him would naturally flow
from her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character.

This information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet;--she would have been
glad to be equally satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage
him by protesting against his proposals, but she dared not to believe
it, and could not help saying so.

"But depend upon it, Mr. Collins," she added, "that Lizzy shall be
brought to reason. I will speak to her about it myself directly. She is
a very headstrong foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but
I will _make_ her know it."

"Pardon me for interrupting you, Madam," cried Mr. Collins; "but if she
is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would
altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who
naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If therefore she
actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to
force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of
temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity."

"Sir, you quite misunderstand me," said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. "Lizzy is
only headstrong in such matters as these. In every thing else she is as
good natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and
we shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure."

She would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her
husband, called out as she entered the library,

"Oh! Mr. Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar.
You must come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will
not have him, and if you do not make haste he will change his mind and
not have _her_."

Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them
on her face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by
her communication.

"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," said he, when she had
finished her speech. "Of what are you talking?"

"Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have Mr. Collins,
and Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not have Lizzy."

"And what am I to do on the occasion?--It seems an hopeless business."

"Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon her
marrying him."

"Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion."

Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was summoned to the
library.

"Come here, child," cried her father as she appeared. "I have sent for
you on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made
you an offer of marriage. Is it true?" Elizabeth replied that it was.
"Very well--and this offer of marriage you have refused?"

"I have, Sir."

"Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your
accepting it. Is not it so, Mrs. Bennet?"

"Yes, or I will never see her again."

"An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must
be a stranger to one of your parents.--Your mother will never see you
again if you do _not_ marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again
if you _do_."

Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning;
but Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the
affair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.

"What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised me
to _insist_ upon her marrying him."

"My dear," replied her husband, "I have two small favours to request.
First, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the
present occasion; and secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the
library to myself as soon as may be."

Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did
Mrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth again and again;
coaxed and threatened her by turns. She endeavoured to secure Jane in
her interest, but Jane with all possible mildness declined
interfering;--and Elizabeth sometimes with real earnestness and
sometimes with playful gaiety replied to her attacks. Though her manner
varied however, her determination never did.

Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed.
He thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motive his cousin
could refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other
way. His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her
deserving her mother's reproach prevented his feeling any regret.

While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend
the day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying to
her, cried in a half whisper, "I am glad you are come, for there is such
fun here!--What do you think has happened this morning?--Mr. Collins has
made an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him."

Charlotte had hardly time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty,
who came to tell the same news, and no sooner had they entered the
breakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she likewise began on
the subject, calling on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreating
her to persuade her friend Lizzy to comply with the wishes of all her
family. "Pray do, my dear Miss Lucas," she added in a melancholy tone,
"for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me, I am cruelly used,
nobody feels for my poor nerves."

Charlotte's reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.

"Aye, there she comes," continued Mrs. Bennet, "looking as unconcerned
as may be, and caring no more for us than if we were at York, provided
she can have her own way.--But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you take
it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way,
you will never get a husband at all--and I am sure I do not know who is
to maintain you when your father is dead.--_I_ shall not be able to keep
you--and so I warn you.--I have done with you from this very day.--I
told you in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you
again, and you will find me as good as my word. I have no pleasure in
talking to undutiful children.--Not that I have much pleasure indeed in
talking to any body. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints
can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I
suffer!--But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never
pitied."

Her daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that any
attempt to reason with or sooth her would only increase the irritation.
She talked on, therefore, without interruption from any of them till
they were joined by Mr. Collins, who entered with an air more stately
than usual, and on perceiving whom, she said to the girls,

"Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues, and
let Mr. Collins and me have a little conversation together."

Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and Kitty followed, but
Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could; and Charlotte,
detained first by the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after
herself and all her family were very minute, and then by a little
curiosity, satisfied herself with walking to the window and pretending
not to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs. Bennet thus began the projected
conversation.--"Oh! Mr. Collins!"--

"My dear Madam," replied he, "let us be for ever silent on this point.
Far be it from me," he presently continued in a voice that marked his
displeasure, "to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to
inevitable evils is the duty of us all; the peculiar duty of a young man
who has been so fortunate as I have been in early preferment; and I
trust I am resigned. Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt of my
positive happiness had my fair cousin honoured me with her hand; for I
have often observed that resignation is never so perfect as when the
blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation.
You will not, I hope, consider me as shewing any disrespect to your
family, my dear Madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your
daughter's favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the
compliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in my behalf.
My conduct may I fear be objectionable in having accepted my dismission
from your daughter's lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to
error. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object
has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due
consideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my _manner_
has been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologise."





The discussion of Mr. Collins's offer was now nearly at an end, and
Elizabeth had only to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily
attending it, and occasionally from some peevish allusion of her mother.
As for the gentleman himself, _his_ feelings were chiefly expressed, not
by embarrassment or dejection, or by trying to avoid her, but by
stiffness of manner and resentful silence. He scarcely ever spoke to
her, and the assiduous attentions which he had been so sensible of
himself, were transferred for the rest of the day to Miss Lucas, whose
civility in listening to him, was a seasonable relief to them all, and
especially to her friend.

The morrow produced no abatement of Mrs. Bennet's ill humour or ill
health. Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth
had hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did
not appear in the least affected by it. He was always to have gone on
Saturday, and to Saturday he still meant to stay.

After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to inquire if Mr. Wickham
were returned, and to lament over his absence from the Netherfield ball.
He joined them on their entering the town and attended them to their
aunt's, where his regret and vexation, and the concern of every body was
well talked over.--To Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily acknowledged
that the necessity of his absence _had_ been self imposed.

"I found," said he, "as the time drew near, that I had better not meet
Mr. Darcy;--that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so
many hours together, might be more than I could bear, and that scenes
might arise unpleasant to more than myself."

She highly approved his forbearance, and they had leisure for a full
discussion of it, and for all the commendation which they civilly
bestowed on each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back with
them to Longbourn, and during the walk, he particularly attended to her.
His accompanying them was a double advantage; she felt all the
compliment it offered to herself, and it was most acceptable as an
occasion of introducing him to her father and mother.

Soon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet; it came
from Netherfield, and was opened immediately. The envelope contained a
sheet of elegant, little, hot pressed paper, well covered with a lady's
fair, flowing hand; and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as
she read it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages.
Jane recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to
join with her usual cheerfulness in the general conversation; but
Elizabeth felt an anxiety on the subject which drew off her attention
even from Wickham; and no sooner had he and his companion taken leave,
than a glance from Jane invited her to follow her up stairs. When they
had gained their own room, Jane taking out the letter, said,

"This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains, has surprised me a
good deal. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time, and are
on their way to town; and without any intention of coming back again.
You shall hear what she says."

She then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information
of their having just resolved to follow their brother to town directly,
and of their meaning to dine that day in Grosvenor street, where Mr.
Hurst had a house. The next was in these words. "I do not pretend to
regret any thing I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my
dearest friend; but we will hope at some future period, to enjoy many
returns of the delightful intercourse we have known, and in the mean
while may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most
unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that." To these high
flown expressions, Elizabeth listened with all the insensibility of
distrust; and though the suddenness of their removal surprised her, she
saw nothing in it really to lament; it was not to be supposed that their
absence from Netherfield would prevent Mr. Bingley's being there; and as
to the loss of their society, she was persuaded that Jane must soon
cease to regard it, in the enjoyment of his.

"It is unlucky," said she, after a short pause, "that you should not be
able to see your friends before they leave the country. But may we not
hope that the period of future happiness to which Miss Bingley looks
forward, may arrive earlier than she is aware, and that the delightful
intercourse you have known as friends, will be renewed with yet greater
satisfaction as sisters?--Mr. Bingley will not be detained in London by
them."

"Caroline decidedly says that none of the party will return into
Hertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you--

"When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which
took him to London, might be concluded in three or four days, but as we
are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when
Charles gets to town, he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have
determined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend
his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintance are
already there for the winter; I wish I could hear that you, my dearest
friend, had any intention of making one in the croud, but of that I
despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in
the gaieties which that season generally brings, and that your beaux
will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the three, of
whom we shall deprive you."

"It is evident by this," added Jane, "that he comes back no more this
winter."

"It is only evident that Miss Bingley does not mean he _should_."

"Why will you think so? It must be his own doing.--He is his own master.
But you do not know _all_. I _will_ read you the passage which
particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from _you_." "Mr. Darcy
is impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, _we_ are
scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana
Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the
affection she inspires in Louisa and myself, is heightened into
something still more interesting, from the hope we dare to entertain of
her being hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever before
mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not leave the
country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them
unreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already, he will have
frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing, her
relations all wish the connection as much as his own, and a sister's
partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most
capable of engaging any woman's heart. With all these circumstances to
favour an attachment and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest
Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness
of so many?"

"What think you of _this_ sentence, my dear Lizzy?"--said Jane as she
finished it. "Is it not clear enough?--Does it not expressly declare
that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister; that she
is perfectly convinced of her brother's indifference, and that if she
suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to
put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?"

"Yes, there can; for mine is totally different.--Will you hear it?"

"Most willingly."

"You shall have it in few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is
in love with you, and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him to
town in the hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he
does not care about you."

Jane shook her head.

"Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me.--No one who has ever seen you
together, can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley I am sure cannot. She is
not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy
for herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes. But the case is
this. We are not rich enough, or grand enough for them; and she is the
more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the notion that
when there has been _one_ intermarriage, she may have less trouble in
achieving a second; in which there is certainly some ingenuity, and I
dare say it would succeed, if Miss de Bourgh were out of the way. But,
my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine that because Miss Bingley
tells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the smallest
degree less sensible of _your_ merit than when he took leave of you on
Tuesday, or that it will be in her power to persuade him that instead of
being in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend."

"If we thought alike of Miss Bingley," replied Jane, "your
representation of all this, might make me quite easy. But I know the
foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving any
one; and all that I can hope in this case is, that she is deceived
herself."

"That is right.--You could not have started a more happy idea, since you
will not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be deceived by all means.
You have now done your duty by her, and must fret no longer."

"But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in
accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry
elsewhere?"

"You must decide for yourself," said Elizabeth, "and if upon mature
deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is
more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by
all means to refuse him."

"How can you talk so?"--said Jane faintly smiling,--"You must know that
though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could
not hesitate."

"I did not think you would;--and that being the case, I cannot consider
your situation with much compassion."

"But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be
required. A thousand things may arise in six months!"

The idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost
contempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion of Caroline's
interested wishes, and she could not for a moment suppose that those
wishes, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man
so totally independent of every one.

She represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt on
the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect.
Jane's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope,
though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that
Bingley would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart.

They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the
family, without being alarmed on the score of the gentleman's conduct;
but even this partial communication gave her a great deal of concern,
and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen
to go away, just as they were all getting so intimate together. After
lamenting it however at some length, she had the consolation of thinking
that Mr. Bingley would be soon down again and soon dining at Longbourn,
and the conclusion of all was the comfortable declaration that, though
he had been invited only to a family dinner, she would take care to have
two full courses.





The Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and again during the
chief of the day, was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. "It keeps him in good
humour," said she, "and I am more obliged to you than I can express."
Charlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and
that it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was
very amiable, but Charlotte's kindness extended farther than Elizabeth
had any conception of;--its object was nothing less, than to secure her
from any return of Mr. Collins's addresses, by engaging them towards
herself. Such was Miss Lucas's scheme; and appearances were so
favourable that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost
sure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon.
But here, she did injustice to the fire and independence of his
character, for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next
morning with admirable slyness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw
himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins,
from a conviction that if they saw him depart, they could not fail to
conjecture his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known
till its success could be known likewise; for though feeling almost
secure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging,
he was comparatively diffident since the adventure of Wednesday. His
reception however was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas perceived
him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly
set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she dared
to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.

In as short a time as Mr. Collins's long speeches would allow, every
thing was settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as they
entered the house, he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was
to make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be
waved for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his
happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature, must
guard his courtship from any charm that could make a woman wish for its
continuance; and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and
disinterested desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that
establishment were gained.

Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent;
and it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins's present
circumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom
they could give little fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were
exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate with more
interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer
Mr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William gave it as his decided
opinion, that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the
Longbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife
should make their appearance at St. James's. The whole family in short
were properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes
of _coming out_ a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have
done; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte's
dying an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had
gained her point, and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were
in general satisfactory. Mr. Collins to be sure was neither sensible nor
agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be
imaginary. But still he would be her husband.--Without thinking highly
either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it
was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small
fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their
pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now
obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been
handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable
circumstance in the business, was the surprise it must occasion to
Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other
person. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would blame her; and though
her resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt by such
disapprobation. She resolved to give her the information herself, and
therefore charged Mr. Collins when he returned to Longbourn to dinner,
to drop no hint of what had passed before any of the family. A promise
of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept
without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence, burst
forth in such very direct questions on his return, as required some
ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great
self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.

As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the
family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved
for the night; and Mrs. Bennet with great politeness and cordiality said
how happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever his
other engagements might allow him to visit them.

"My dear Madam," he replied, "this invitation is particularly
gratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive; and you
may be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soon as
possible."

They were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, who could by no means wish for
so speedy a return, immediately said,

"But is there not danger of Lady Catherine's disapprobation here, my
good sir?--You had better neglect your relations, than run the risk of
offending your patroness."

"My dear sir," replied Mr. Collins, "I am particularly obliged to you
for this friendly caution, and you may depend upon my not taking so
material a step without her ladyship's concurrence."

"You cannot be too much on your guard. Risk any thing rather than her
displeasure; and if you find it likely to be raised by your coming to us
again, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home,
and be satisfied that _we_ shall take no offence."

"Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such
affectionate attention; and depend upon it, you will speedily receive
from me a letter of thanks for this, as well as for every other mark of
your regard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins,
though my absence may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall
now take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting
my cousin Elizabeth."

With proper civilities the ladies then withdrew; all of them equally
surprised to find that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished
to understand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of
her younger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him.
She rated his abilities much higher than any of the others; there was a
solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though by no
means so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to read and
improve himself by such an example as her's, he might become a very
agreeable companion. But on the following morning, every hope of this
kind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast, and in a
private conference with Elizabeth related the event of the day before.

The possibility of Mr. Collins's fancying himself in love with her
friend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two; but
that Charlotte could encourage him, seemed almost as far from
possibility as that she could encourage him herself, and her
astonishment was consequently so great as to overcome at first the
bounds of decorum, and she could not help crying out,

"Engaged to Mr. Collins! my dear Charlotte,--impossible!"

The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her
story, gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a
reproach; though, as it was no more than she expected, she soon
regained her composure, and calmly replied,

"Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza?--Do you think it incredible
that Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman's good opinion,
because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?"

But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort
for it, was able to assure her with tolerable firmness that the prospect
of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished
her all imaginable happiness.

"I see what you are feeling," replied Charlotte,--"you must be
surprised, very much surprised,--so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to
marry you. But when you have had time to think it all over, I hope you
will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic you know. I
never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's
character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my
chance of happiness with him is as fair, as most people can boast on
entering the marriage state."

Elizabeth quietly answered "Undoubtedly;"--and after an awkward pause,
they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much
longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. It
was a long time before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so
unsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins's making two offers
of marriage within three days, was nothing in comparison of his being
now accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony
was not exactly like her own, but she could not have supposed it
possible that when called into action, she would have sacrificed every
better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins,
was a most humiliating picture!--And to the pang of a friend disgracing
herself and sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing conviction
that it was impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot
she had chosen.





Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what
she had heard, and doubting whether she were authorised to mention it,
when Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter to
announce her engagement to the family. With many compliments to them,
and much self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the
houses, he unfolded the matter,--to an audience not merely wondering,
but incredulous; for Mrs. Bennet, with more perseverance than
politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken, and Lydia, always
unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed,

"Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story?--Do not you know
that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?"

Nothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have borne
without anger such treatment; but Sir William's good breeding carried
him through it all; and though he begged leave to be positive as to the
truth of his information, he listened to all their impertinence with the
most forbearing courtesy.

Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant
a situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account, by
mentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself; and
endeavoured to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters,
by the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she
was readily joined by Jane, and by making a variety of remarks on the
happiness that might be expected from the match, the excellent character
of Mr. Collins, and the convenient distance of Hunsford from London.

Mrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to say a great deal while
Sir William remained; but no sooner had he left them than her feelings
found a rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in disbelieving
the whole of the matter; secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collins
had been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that they would never be happy
together; and fourthly, that the match might be broken off. Two
inferences, however, were plainly deduced from the whole; one, that
Elizabeth was the real cause of all the mischief; and the other, that
she herself had been barbarously used by them all; and on these two
points she principally dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could
console and nothing appease her.--Nor did that day wear out her
resentment. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without
scolding her, a month passed away before she could speak to Sir William
or Lady Lucas without being rude, and many months were gone before she
could at all forgive their daughter.

Mr. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such
as he did experience he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort; for
it gratified him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had
been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and
more foolish than his daughter!

Jane confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but she said
less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness;
nor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty and
Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a
clergyman; and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news
to spread at Meryton.

Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort on
Mrs. Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well married; and she
called at Longbourn rather oftener than usual to say how happy she was,
though Mrs. Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been
enough to drive happiness away.

Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them
mutually silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no
real confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her
disappointment in Charlotte made her turn with fonder regard to her
sister, of whose rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could
never be shaken, and for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious, as
Bingley had now been gone a week, and nothing was heard of his return.

Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and was counting
the days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised
letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their
father, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which a
twelvemonth's abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging
his conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many
rapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection
of their amiable neighbour, Miss Lucas, and then explained that it was
merely with the view of enjoying her society that he had been so ready
to close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn, whither
he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight; for Lady Catherine,
he added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it to take
place as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable
argument with his amiable Charlotte to name an early day for making him
the happiest of men.

Mr. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of
pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary she was as much disposed to
complain of it as her husband.--It was very strange that he should come
to Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient
and exceedingly troublesome.--She hated having visitors in the house
while her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the
most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs. Bennet, and they
gave way only to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley's continued
absence.

Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject. Day after
day passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the
report which shortly prevailed in Meryton of his coming no more to
Netherfield the whole winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs.
Bennet, and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous
falsehood.

Even Elizabeth began to fear--not that Bingley was indifferent--but that
his sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as she
was to admit an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness, and so
dishonourable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent its
frequently recurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters
and of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss
Darcy and the amusements of London, might be too much, she feared, for
the strength of his attachment.

As for Jane, _her_ anxiety under this suspence was, of course, more
painful than Elizabeth's; but whatever she felt she was desirous of
concealing, and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject
was never alluded to. But as no such delicacy restrained her mother, an
hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express her
impatience for his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that if he
did not come back, she should think herself very ill used. It needed all
Jane's steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable
tranquillity.

Mr. Collins returned most punctually on the Monday fortnight, but his
reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his
first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention;
and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them
from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by
him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time
to make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed.

Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of any
thing concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill humour, and
wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight of
Miss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she
regarded her with jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see
them she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession; and
whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was convinced that
they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself
and her daughters out of the house, as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She
complained bitterly of all this to her husband.

"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," said she, "it is very hard to think that Charlotte
Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to
make way for _her_, and live to see her take my place in it!"

"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for
better things. Let us flatter ourselves that _I_ may be the survivor."

This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and, therefore, instead of
making any answer, she went on as before,

"I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate. If it was
not for the entail I should not mind it."

"What should not you mind?"

"I should not mind any thing at all."

"Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such
insensibility."

"I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for any thing about the entail.
How any one could have the conscience to entail away an estate from
one's own daughters I cannot understand; and all for the sake of Mr.
Collins too!--Why should _he_ have it more than anybody else?"

"I leave it to yourself to determine," said Mr. Bennet.


END OF VOL. I.




[Illustration: A VICARAGE HOUSE.]




PRIDE AND PREJUDICE:

A Novel.

In Three Volumes.

By the Author of "Sense and Sensibility."

VOL. II.







London:
Printed for T. Egerton,
Military Library, Whitehall.

 The narrator offers some insight into Mr. Collins's past. Owing to the combination of an "illiterate and miserly father" and the unexpected good fortune of finding Lady Catherine as a patroness, Collins is both overly humble and yet completely full of himself. His intention in coming to Longbourn is to "make amends" for the entailment by marrying one of the Bennet daughters. Though he is initially attracted to Jane because of her beauty, Collins shifts his attention to Elizabeth after learning from Mrs. Bennet that Jane might soon be engaged. Mr. Collins joins the ladies on a walk to Meryton. On the way, they meet Mr. Denny, an officer that Lydia and Kitty know. He introduces them to Mr. Wickham, a handsome and charming new member of the regiment. While the parties are conversing, Bingley and Darcy pass by and greet them. Elizabeth notices that Darcy and Wickham grow extremely uncomfortable around each other. Soon enough, Bingley and Darcy continue on their way. Once the party arrives at the Phillips house, Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham take their leave. Inside, Jane introduces Mr. Collins to Mrs. Phillips, who promises to invite the entire household to dinner the next night. She also plans to invite Mr. Wickham. Chapter 16 The narrative shifts to the dinner engagement at the Phillips home the following evening. Before dinner, Mr. Collins praises Lady Catherine and her mansion, Rosings, to Mrs. Phillips, who is impressed. During dinner, Elizabeth forms a very favorable impression of Mr. Wickham and converses with him at length throughout the evening. In addition to enjoying the charming flirtation, Elizabeth wants to investigate the animosity she observed between him and Darcy. Wickham raises the subject by asking her how long Darcy has been in the area. When Elizabeth confesses her dislike, Wickham pretends to avoid the subject but changes his mind quickly enough and relays his story. Wickham is the son of one of the servants at Pemberly, the Darcy family's estate. Wickham's father was a loyal servant for many years, so Mr. Darcy's father bequeathed young Wickham an ample living in his will. However, Darcy circumvented his father's promise after the elder man died and gave Wickham's intended inheritance to someone else. Wickham believes that Darcy's jealousy grew out of observing the elder Darcy's affection for young Wickham. In order to punish his rival, Darcy cruelly subjected Wickham to live a life of poverty . Outraged, Elizabeth suggests that Darcy should be publicly dishonored, but Wickham refuses to do so out of respect for the man's father. Together, they criticize Darcy's pride. Wickham explains that Darcy is only generous with his money when he is trying to avoid disgracing the family. Furthermore, Wickham shares that Darcy is very close to and protective of his younger sister, Georgiana Darcy, and hints that he himself was one close with the girl. Wickham also tells Elizabeth that Lady Catherine de Bourgh is Mr. Darcy's aunt, and that Mr. Darcy is expected to marry young Miss de Bourgh in order to unite the fortunes of the two families. Chapter 17 The next day, Elizabeth tells Jane about her conversation with Wickham, but Jane refuses to think ill of either Wickham or Darcy. Instead, Jane assumes that there must simply be a misunderstanding between them. Mr. Bingley and his sisters announce a ball and invite the Bennet family. Mr. Collins informs the Bennets that he plans to attend the ball as well, and asks Elizabeth to save the first two dances for him. She is disappointed because she had hoped to dance with Wickham, but Elizabeth grants her cousin the favor. Subsequently, Elizabeth realizes that Mr. Collins is considering her to be his wife and tries to ignore his insinuations in the hopes of putting him off. Chapter 18 The night of the Netherfield ball arrives, and Elizabeth takes extra care in preparing herself for the occasion. However, she is disappointed to discover that Wickham is not there; she assumes he has avoided the ball because of Darcy's presence. After relating her disappointment to Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth suffers through her two dances with the awkward Mr. Collins. After that, Mr. Darcy asks Elizabeth to dance and she is so shocked that she accepts. While dancing with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth makes sarcastic comments to poke fun at Darcy's character. She alludes to her new acquaintance with Wickham and insinuates that she knows about the extent of Darcy's poor behavior. Sir William Lucas briefly interrupts them, but Elizabeth soon directs the conversation towards Darcy's previous admission of his tendency toward resentment. After the dance, they part in silence. To himself, Darcy blames Wickham for the trouble. Meanwhile, Jane has informed Caroline Bingley about Elizabeth's new relationship with Wickham. Caroline warns Elizabeth not to trust Wickham. In fact, she insists that it was Wickham who mistreated Darcy and not the other way around. Elizabeth reacts rudely, rejecting the suggestion. Jane also tells Elizabeth that Bingley believes Wickham to be the villain in the situation, but Elizabeth dismisses this as well. She concludes that Bingley must be blind to the truth because of his friendship with Darcy. Mr. Collins learns that Darcy is Lady Catherine's nephew. He introduces himself to Darcy despite Elizabeth's warnings that he is overstepping his social bounds. While Mr. Collins's effusive introduction catches Darcy by surprise, he nevertheless replies to Collins politely before walking away. Throughout the evening, Jane enjoys Bingley's company, and Elizabeth is overjoyed upon observing her sister's happiness. Mrs. Bennet is thrilled about the connection and speaks loudly and incessantly about the likelihood of an engagement. Elizabeth is particularly mortified that Mr. Darcy is close enough to overhear her mother's babbling. After dinner, Mary accepts an invitation to play and sing at the piano, ignoring Elizabeth's hints that she ought to decline. After Mary's second piece, Elizabeth convinces her father to stop Mary from continuing. Mr. Collins then delivers a speech about the importance of music, but makes sure to insist that it is inferior to other clerical duties. Overall, Elizabeth is completely embarrassed by her family's conduct throughout the evening. At the end of the ball, Mrs. Bennet invites Bingley to dinner at Longbourn, and he promises to come as soon as he returns form a short trip to London. Chapter 19 The next day, Mr. Collins proposes to Elizabeth in a long and pompous speech. He explains that it is appropriate for someone at his place in life to marry and that he wants to marry one of the Miss Bennets in order to compensate for the entailment. Elizabeth rejects Collins's proposal in no uncertain terms, but Mr. Collins refuses to believe her. He vocalizes his belief that her initial refusal is simply a formality of female coquetry. Elizabeth repeats and strengthens her stance, but when Collins continues to deny her sincerity, she simply leaves the room. Chapter 20 When Mrs. Bennet learns from Mr. Collins that Elizabeth has refused to marry him, she entreats Mr. Bennet to force Elizabeth to change her mind. Mr. Bennet agrees to speak with Elizabeth, but actually tells her that he refuses to let her marry someone like Mr. Collins. Mrs. Bennet does not give up, however, and continues to argue with Elizabeth about the matter. In the midst of all this confusion, Charlotte Lucas comes to visit. Eventually, Mr. Collins accepts Elizabeth's refusal. Chapter 21 Mr. Collins treats Elizabeth coldly for the rest of the day and shifts his attentions to Charlotte Lucas. After breakfast, the Bennet girls walk together to Meryton. While there, Elizabeth speaks with Wickham. He accompanies the party back to Longbourn, paying particular attention to Elizabeth during their walk. Upon their return home, Jane finds a letter from Caroline Bingley. She writes that the entire Bingley family has left Netherfield for London and have no intention of returning for at least another six months. The letter also reveals the family's expectation that Mr. Bingley will marry Georgiana Darcy, thus implying that they do not want him to marry Jane. Elizabeth attempts to comfort Jane by reassuring her that Caroline is trying to manipulate her brother in order to prevent him from marrying a socially inferior woman. Elizabeth believes that Bingley will most assuredly return to Netherfield. Chapter 22 For the rest of the day, Charlotte engages Mr. Collins in conversation. It is clear she is deliberately soliciting his interest. Early the next morning, Mr. Collins walks to Lucas Lodge to propose to Charlotte. She accepts, and Sir William and Lady Lucas approve the match. Mr. Collins leaves Longbourn the next day without informing the Bennets of his engagement. However, he mysteriously promises to return soon, remaining oblivious to Mr. Bennet's sarcastic insistence that he need not rush. Later that day, Charlotte tells Elizabeth about her engagement. Elizabeth is shocked, but tries to be kind in her reaction. She is, however, very unhappy about Charlotte's decision because she thinks that the match is completely unsuitable. She is disappointed that her friend would marry for such materialistic reasons. Chapter 23 Soon after Charlotte shares the news of her engagement with Elizabeth, Sir William Lucas arrives at Longbourn to make the official announcement. The rest of the Bennet family is surprised, and Mrs. Bennet is absolutely incredulous. Once she finally accepts the truth, Mrs. Bennet grows angry with Elizabeth for having let go of a potential husband. Over time, Elizabeth and Charlotte do not discuss the subject of the marriage with each other, and their friendship briefly diminishes. Meanwhile, Jane and Elizabeth both grow concerned about of the lack of correspondence from Mr. Bingley. Eventually, Mr. Collins returns to Longbourn in order to make preparations for his marriage. The Bennets are not exactly happy to see him and are grateful that he spends most of his time at Lucas Lodge.

