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.

 Feeling a sense of obligation to the Bennet family because of the entail, Mr. Collins plans to ask one of the Bennet daughters to marry him. After Mrs. Bennet tells him that they expect Jane to be engaged soon, he decides to propose to Elizabeth. That resolved, Mr. Collins joins Elizabeth and her sisters as they walk to Meryton where Lydia and Kitty are excited to see some of the officers stationed there. Everyone's attention is drawn to a new officer -- George Wickham -- who impresses Elizabeth with his good looks and charming manners. As Elizabeth and her sisters are speaking with Wickham, Darcy and Bingley ride up to them. Elizabeth is intrigued to notice that Darcy and Wickham recognize each other, and as the two men barely acknowledge each other, Wickham looks pale and Darcy appears angry. The next day, the Bennet sisters and Mr. Collins return to Meryton to dine with Mrs. Bennet's sister, Mrs. Philips. Some of the officers are also present, including Wickham, who seeks Elizabeth out and sits next to her as she plays cards. Wickham astonishes her by revealing the nature of his relationship with Darcy, telling her that his father was Darcy's father's steward and that he and Darcy grew up together. According to Wickham, he was a favorite of Darcy's father and when Darcy's father died, Wickham was supposed to have received a position as a clergyman at the rectory that the Darcy family oversees. However, Darcy gave the job to someone else -- out of jealousy, Wickham presumes -- and left Wickham to fend for himself. Wickham declares that both Darcy and his sister are proud and unpleasant people, and Elizabeth eagerly concurs with his opinion. When Elizabeth shares Wickham's story with Jane, Jane insists there must be some sort of misunderstanding on both Wickham's and Darcy's parts. Elizabeth laughs at her sister's kind nature and declares that she knows Wickham to be right. As they are discussing the matter, Bingley calls to invite the family to a ball at Netherfield in a few days. Everyone is delighted, including Mr. Collins who, to Elizabeth's dismay, secures her promise that she'll dance the first two dances with him. At the ball, Elizabeth is disappointed to discover that Wickham is absent and blames Darcy for making him uncomfortable enough to avoid coming. She is so surprised, however, when Darcy asks her to dance with him that she agrees to it without thinking. As they dance, they are at first interrupted by Sir William, who alludes to the anticipated engagement between Jane and Bingley. Darcy seems troubled by this, but is then distracted when Elizabeth raises the subject of Wickham. They discuss Wickham tensely and end their dance feeling angry and dissatisfied. At dinner, Elizabeth is mortified by her mother's incessant chatter to Lady Lucas about Jane and Bingley getting engaged. She notices that Darcy can't help but hear her mother's loud whispers and unsuccessfully encourages her mother the change the subject. After dinner, Elizabeth's sense of humiliation grows as her parents and all of her sisters except Jane act foolishly and without restraint. Mr. Collins adds to her misery by continuing to hover near her, causing Elizabeth to be grateful when Charlotte engages him in conversation.

