Chapter 18

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham, a doubt of his coming had never occurred to her. But his friend Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, said that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before.

But Elizabeth was not made for ill-humour; and though her hopes were destroyed for the evening, she could not be sad long. The first two dances, however, brought her a sense of distress; they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins was awkward and solemn. The moment of her release from him was ecstasy.

She danced next with an officer, and heard that he was universally liked. When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas. Suddenly Mr. Darcy invited her to dance. Without knowing what she did, she accepted him.

They stood for some time without speaking a word. 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. Perhaps I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent.”

“Do you talk while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know.”

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 ‘yes’, and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just met a new acquaintance.”

The effect was immediate. Darcy said, “Mr. Wickham has so happy manners that he makes friends easily.”

“He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,” replied Elizabeth with emphasis.

Darcy made no answer.

“What do you think of books?” said he, smiling.

“Books – oh! no. I am sure we never read the same books, or not with the same feelings.”

“I am sorry you think so; but 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 – does it?” said he, with a look of doubt.

“Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said.

She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied.

Miss Bingley came towards her:

“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. I find that the young man quite forgot to tell you that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy’s steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to believe him much; 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.”

“You are much mistaken,” said Elizabeth to herself, “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.”

Elizabeth came to Jane.

“I want to know,” said she, “what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham.”

“I have nothing satisfactory to tell you,” replied Jane, “Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy. And he is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received. And I am sorry to say that Mr. Wickham is not 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 opinion 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. Collins came up to them, and told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate.

“I have found out,” said he, “by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. How wonderfully these sort of things occur!”

“You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy!”

“Indeed I am. I believe him to be Lady Catherine’s nephew.”

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme. But Mr. Collins was determined. And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.

“Mr. Darcy,” said he, “seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility. I am much pleased with him.”

When they sat down to supper, Mrs. Bennet was speaking about Jane’s marrying. Her mother would talk of her views in the most intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation.

At length, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Elizabeth now began to revive. But the rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teased by Mr. Collins, who continued to talk to her all the time. In vain did she entreat him to talk to somebody else, and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room.

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quitted the house under the delightful persuasion that 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.

Chapter 19

The next day Mr. Collins made his declaration in form. On finding Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together, soon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words:

“May I hope, madam, can I have a private audience with your fair daughter Elizabeth this morning?”

Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennet answered instantly, “Oh dear! – yes – certainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happy – I am sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty.” And, gathering her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out:

“Dear madam, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am going away myself.”

“No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you to stay where you are.” And she added: “Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth sat down again and tried to conceal. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were gone, Mr. Collins began.

“Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty rather adds to your other perfections. Allow me to assure you, that I have your respected mother’s permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I thought about you as the companion of my future life. But perhaps it would be better to state my reasons for marrying. My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced that it will make my life happier; and thirdly – which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. She said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, this is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her here, and I will visit her.’ Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that my views were directed towards Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I can assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that I will inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who, however, may live many years longer). And I decided to choose a wife from among his daughters. This has been my motive, my fair cousin. To money I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father. On that head, therefore, I shall be silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.”

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

“You are too hasty, sir,” cried Elizabeth. “You forget that I have made no answer. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but I must decline them.”

“Are you serious?” asked Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand.

“Upon my word, sir,” cried Elizabeth, “I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible.”