Chapter 18

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 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 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

disappointment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to

the polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make.

Attendance, 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 first two 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 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 unpleasant

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 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 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

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 stopped 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 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 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 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

silence; 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. 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

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

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 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

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 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

delight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Mr.

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

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 following 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 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 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 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 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 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 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,

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 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 tithes 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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.