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 unreason-
ably have alarmed her. She had dressed with more than usual care, and pre-
pared 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 pur-
posely omitted for Mr. Darcy's pleasure in the Bingleys' invitation to the of-
ficers; and though this was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his ab-
sence was pronounced by his friend Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied,
and who told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on busi-
ness 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 wanted 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 disappoint-
ment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite in-
quiries which he directly afterwards approached to make. Attendance, for-
bearance, 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 first
two dances, however, brought a return of distress; they were dances of mor-
tification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologising instead of attend-
ing, 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 ecstasy.
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 un-
pleasant in the eyes of a man 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 sort of re-
mark 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 by 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 similari-
ty 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 temp-
tation, added, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been form-
ing a new acquaintance."
The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his fea-
tures, 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 con-
strained manner said, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as
may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of re-
taining 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 stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his danc-
ing 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 cer-
tain desirable event, my dear 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 inter-
rupted 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 unap-
peasable. 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 reports 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 si-
lence; and 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 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 quite forgot to tell you, among his
other communication, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Dar-
cy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give im-
plicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy's using him ill, it
is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has always been 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 that 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 has 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 everything 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 satisfac-
tory 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 by
his account as well as his sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a re-
spectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has de-
served 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 satis-
fied. 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. Bin-
gley's defense 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 to still 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 de-
light to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Mr. Bin-
gley'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 Lu-
cas; 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 impor-
tant 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 gentle-
man himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of the
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 entreat 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'nnight."
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 follow-
ing his own inclination, and, when she ceased speaking, replied thus:
"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world in your
excellent judgement in all matters within the scope of your understanding;
but permit me to say, that there must be a wide difference between the es-
tablished 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 oc-
casion, 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. Dar-
cy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose aston-
ishment 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 unre-
strained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak,
replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not discour-
aged 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 re-
ception. 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 per-
haps 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 Bing-
ley'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 her expectation that
Jane would soon be married to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject,
and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advan-
tages 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 daugh-
ters, 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 cir-
cumstance a matter of pleasure, because on such occasions it is the eti-
quette; but no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to find comfort in stay-
ing home at any period of her life. She concluded with many good wishes
that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though evidently and tri-
umphantly 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 for
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 mortifica-
tion of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the compa-
ny. By many significant looks and silent entreaties, did she endeavour to
prevent such a proof of complaisance, but in vain; Mary would not under-
stand 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 sensa-
tions, and she watched her progress through the several stanzas with an im-
patience 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 pre-
vailed on to favour them again, after the pause of half a minute began an-
other. 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 Bing-
ley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making signs of derision at
each other, and at Darcy, who continued, however, imperturbably 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 certain-
ly 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 tithes as may be benefi-
cial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own ser-
mons; 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 im-
portance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manner towards
everybody, 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 anybody connect-
ed 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 re-
markably clever, good kind of young man.
To Elizabeth it appeared that, had her family made an agreement to ex-
pose 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 suc-
cess; 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 ridicul-
ing 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 teased by
Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her side, and though he
could not prevail on 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 offense of Mr. Darcy's further 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 conse-
quence 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 carriage a quarter of an
hour after everybody 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 ele-
gance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had
marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Ben-
net, 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 occa-
sional exclamation of "Lord, how tired I am!" accompanied by a violent
yawn.
When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressing-
ly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn, and ad-
dressed herself especially 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, af-
ter 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 de-
lightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations of settle-
ments, 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 cer-
tainty, 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.
