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Elizabeth was sitting by herself the next morning, and writing to Jane while Mrs. Collins and Maria were gone on business into the village, when she was startled by a ring at the door, the certain signal of a visitor. The door opened, and, to her very great surprise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy only, entered the room.
He said that he had hoped to see all the ladies.
They then sat down. It was absolutely necessary, therefore, to think of something, so she observed:
“How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy! It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you all after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day before. He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London?”
“Perfectly so, I thank you.”
“I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever returning to Netherfield again?”
“I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend very little of his time there in the future,” said Darcy, “I should not be surprised, if he moved as soon as possible.”
Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his friend; and, having nothing else to say, was silent.
“This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”
“I believe she did.”
“Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”
“Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoice. My friend is an excellent wife, I suppose.”
Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, in a colder voice:
“Are you pleased with Kent?”
A short dialogue on the subject of the country followed, on either side calm and concise. Charlotte and her sister returned from their walk. Mr. Darcy after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much to anybody, went away.
“What can be the meaning of this?” said Charlotte, as soon as he was gone. “My dear, Eliza, he must be in love with you.”
Why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parson-age, it was difficult to understand. He frequently sat there ten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak, he spoke very little.
Charlotte had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of his loving her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the idea; and Mrs. Collins did not think it right to press the subject.
More than once did Elizabeth, in her walking in the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. How it could occur, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did. He never said much, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much.
But one day, instead of meeting Mr. Darcy, she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam. Forcing a smile, she said:
“I did not know before that you ever walked this way.”
“I have been making the tour of the park,” he replied, “as I generally do every year. Are you going much farther?”
“No, I am going to turn in a moment.”
And they walked towards the Parsonage together.
“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?” said she.
“Yes – if Darcy does not put it off again,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases. He likes to have his own way very well. But so we all do. He is rich, and many others are poor. Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are few people in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some money.”
“Is this,” thought Elizabeth, “meant for me?” and she coloured. “Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes care of him.”
“Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant.”
“What do you mean?”
“What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself: he saved a friend from the most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names, and I only suspected it to be Bingley.”
“Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?”
“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”
“And what did he do to separate them?”
“He did not tell me,” said Fitzwilliam, smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you.”
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.
“I am thinking of what you have told me,” said she. “Your cousin’s behaviour does not suit my feelings. I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide for his friend. But,” she continued, “as we know nothing, it is not fair to condemn him.”
They reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room, as soon as their visitor left them, Elizabeth could think without interruption of all that she had heard. Mr. Darcy separated Bingley and Jane! He was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world.
“There were some very strong objections against the lady,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words; and those strong objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in business in London.
“To Jane herself,” she exclaimed, “there could be no objection; all loveliness and goodness as she is! Neither could anything be said against my father.” When she thought of her mother, her confidence went away; but she would not allow that any objections there had material for Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth began to reread all the letters which Jane had written to her. They contained no actual complaint. But in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a lack of something.
She could not think of Darcy’s leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and she did not mean to be unhappy about him.
Suddenly she heard the door-bell, she thought that it could be Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening. But, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but did not say a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:
“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement. He spoke well; but he was not more eloquent on the subject of love than of pride.
In spite of her deep dislike, Elizabeth could feel the compliment of such a man’s affection. But when he stopped, the colour rose into her cheeks, and she said:
“I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to pain anyone.”
Mr. Darcy caught her words with surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. The pause was dreadful to Elizabeth’s feelings. Finally, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:
“And this is all the reply! I want to know, why I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.”
“Shall I accept the man,” replied she, “who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion was short. She continued:
“I have every reason to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted. You cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other.”
She paused. He looked at her with a smile.
“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity he then replied: “I have no wish to deny that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister.”
“But it is not merely this affair,” continued Elizabeth, “on which my dislike is founded. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. What can you say? Who knows what his misfortunes have been?”
“His misfortunes!” repeated Darcy contemptuously; “yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed. This is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I am not ashamed of the feelings I have. They are natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is beneath my own?”
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to speak calmly:
“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, I would refuse anyway.”
Again his astonishment was obvious. She went on:
“From the very beginning – from the first moment – of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. You are the last man in the world whom I could ever marry.”
“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings. Forgive me for taking so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.
Elizabeth sat down and cried for half-an-hour. She received an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! He is in love with her! But his pride, his abominable pride, and the manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his cruelty towards Jane tell more than his words of love.
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