Elizabeth related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr. Wickham and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern; she knew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard; and yet, it was not in her nature to question the honesty of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham. Nothing remained therefore to be done, but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each.
The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery, where this conversation passed, by the arrival of the very persons of whom they had been speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give their personal invitation for the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their dear friend again, and repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention. They were soon gone again, rising from their seats with an activity which took their brother by surprise, and hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.
The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a ceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attentions of their brother; and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a lot with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr. Darcy's look and behavior. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended less on any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was, at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it.
Elizabeth's spirits were so high on this occasion, that though she did not often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's invitation.
“I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you,” said he, “that a ball of this kind, given by a young man, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I take this opportunity of asking you, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances.”
Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in.[89] She had fully proposed being engaged by Mr. Wickham for those very dances; and to have Mr. Collins instead! There was no help for it, however, and she accepted Mr. Collins's proposal with as good a grace as she could. It now first struck her, that she was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being mistress of Hunsford Parsonage. The idea soon reached to conviction, as she observed his increasing civilities toward herself, and heard his frequent attempt at a compliment on her wit and vivacity. Elizabeth, however, did not choose to take the hint, being well aware that a serious dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr. Collins might never make the offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.
Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. 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. The fact of Wickham's absence was confirmed by his friend Denny. He told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and was not yet returned. He added, with a significant smile, “I suppose he wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here.”
Elizabeth was resolved against any sort of conversation with Darcy. But she was not formed for ill-humour[90]; and having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week, she was soon able to point Mr. Collins out to her particular notice[91]. The first two dances, however, were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, 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 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 resumed, however, and Darcy approached to claim her hand, Elizabeth took her place in the set. They stood for some time without speaking a word; then she fancied that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, and 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 by and by[92] 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 playfully; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, reserved disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to future like 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 eager to change 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 seeing Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.
“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) will 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 reproaching 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. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”
“What do you think 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 is the case, we may compare our different opinions.”
“No – I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.”
“Thepresent 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 important for 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, “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[93] on either.”
“But if I do not make your portrait 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 powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon[94].
They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and said:
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