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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.

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