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- pride-and-prejudice
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- asserted his blamelessness in the affair;--that, proud and repulsive as
were his manners, she had never, in the whole course of their
acquaintance--an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much
together, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways--seen anything
that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust--anything that spoke him
of irreligious or immoral habits;--that among his own connections he was
esteemed and valued;--that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a
brother, and that she had often heard him speak so affectionately of his
sister as to prove him capable of some amiable feeling;--that had his
actions been what Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of
everything right could hardly have been concealed from the world; and
that friendship between a person capable of it and such an amiable man
as Mr. Bingley was incomprehensible.
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham
could she think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial,
prejudiced, absurd.
“How despicably have I acted!” she cried. “I, who have prided myself on
my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have
often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my
vanity in useless or blameless distrust. How humiliating is this
discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not
have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my
folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect
of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted
prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away where either were
concerned. Till this moment, I never knew myself.”
From herself to Jane, from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a line
which soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Darcy’s explanation
_there_ had appeared very insufficient; and she read it again. Widely
different was the effect of a second perusal. How could she deny that
credit to his assertions, in one instance, which she had been obliged to
give in the other? He declared himself to have been totally unsuspicious
of her sister’s attachment; and she could not help remembering what
Charlotte’s opinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice
of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings, though
fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant
complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great
sensibility.
When she came to that part of the letter in which her family were
mentioned, in tones of such mortifying, yet merited, reproach, her sense
of shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly
for denial; and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded, as
having passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first
disapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind
than on hers.
The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed, but
it could not console her for the contempt which had been thus
self-attracted by the rest of her family; and as she considered that
Jane’s disappointment had, in fact, been the work of her nearest
relations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt
by such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond anything she
had ever known before.
After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every
variety of thought, reconsidering events, determining probabilities, and
reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and so
important, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made her at
length return home; and she entered the house with the wish of appearing
cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such reflections as
must make her unfit for conversation.
She was immediately told, that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each
called during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes, to take
leave, but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at least
an hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after her
till she could be found. Elizabeth could but just _affect_ concern in
missing him; she really rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no
longer an object. She could think only of her letter.
[Illustration:
“His parting obeisance”
]
CHAPTER XXXVII.
[Illustration]
The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning; and Mr. Collins having
been in waiting near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance, was
able to bring home the pleasing intelligence of their appearing in very
good health, and in as tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the
melancholy scene so lately gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then
hastened to console Lady Catherine and her daughter; and on his return
brought back, with great satisfaction, a message from her Ladyship,
importing that she felt herself so dull as to make her very desirous of
having them all to dine with her.
Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that, had
she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her as her
future niece; nor could she think, without a smile, of what her
Ladyship’s indignation would have been. “What would she have said? how
would she have behaved?” were the questions with which she amused
herself.
Their first subject was the diminution of the Rosings’ party. “I assure
you, I feel it exceedingly,” said Lady Catherine; “I believe nobody
feels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly
attached to these young men; and know them to be so much attached to me!
They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always are. The dear
Colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last; but Darcy
seemed to feel it most acutely--more, I think, than last year. His
attachment to Rosings certainly increases.”
Mr. Collins had a compliment and an allusion to throw in here, which
were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.
Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of
spirits; and immediately accounting for it herself, by supposing that
she did not like to go home again so soon, she added,--
“But if that is the case, you must write to your mother to beg that you
may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your
company, I am sure.”
“I am much obliged to your Ladyship for your kind invitation,” replied
Elizabeth; “but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town
next Saturday.”
“Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected
you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There
can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly
spare you for another fortnight.”
“But my father cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return.”
[Illustration:
“Dawson”
[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]
“Oh, your father, of course, may spare you, if your mother can.
Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. And if you will
stay another _month_ complete, it will be in my power to take one of you
as far as London, for I am going there early in June, for a week; and
as Dawson does not object to the barouche-box, there will be very good
room for one of you--and, indeed, if the weather should happen to be
cool, I should not object to taking you both, as you are neither of you
large.”
“You are all kindness, madam; but I believe we must abide by our
original plan.”
Lady Catherine seemed resigned. “Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant
with them. You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea
of two young women travelling post by themselves. It is highly improper.
You must contrive to send somebody. I have the greatest dislike in the
world to that sort of thing.