Chapter 60

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Elizabeth’s spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.

Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. “How could

you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when

you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first

place?”

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which

laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I

knew that I had begun.”

“My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners--my behaviour

to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke

to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now, be

sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”

“For the liveliness of your mind I did.”

“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.

The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious

attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking,

and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused and

interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really

amiable you would have hated me for it: but in spite of the pains you

took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and

in your heart you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously

courted you. There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it;

and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly

reasonable. To be sure you know no actual good of me--but nobody thinks

of that when they fall in love.”

“Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was

ill at Netherfield?”

“Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it

by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are

to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me

to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may

be; and I shall begin directly, by asking you what made you so unwilling

to come to the point at last? What made you so shy of me, when you

first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you

called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”

“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”

“But I was embarrassed.”

“And so was I.”

“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”

“A man who had felt less might.”

“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that

I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you

would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when

you would have spoken if I had not asked you! My resolution of

thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too

much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort

springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the

subject? This will never do.”

“You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady

Catherine’s unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the means of

removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to

your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to

wait for an opening of yours. My aunt’s intelligence had given me hope,

and I was determined at once to know everything.”

“Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy,

for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to

Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed?

or had you intended any more serious consequences?”

“My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I

might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to

myself, was to see whether your sister was still partial to Bingley, and

if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.”

“Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to

befall her?”

“I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to

be done; and if you will give me a sheet of paper it shall be done

directly.”

“And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and

admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But

I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.”

From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy

had been overrated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner’s

long letter; but now, having that to communicate which she knew would

be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find that her uncle and aunt

had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as

follows:--

“I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done,

for your long, kind, satisfactory detail of particulars; but, to say the

truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed.

But now suppose as much as you choose; give a loose to your fancy,

indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the subject will

afford, and unless you believe me actually married, you cannot greatly

err. You must write again very soon, and praise him a great deal more

than you did in your last. I thank you again and again, for not going to

the Lakes. How could I be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the

ponies is delightful. We will go round the park every day. I am the

happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so

before, but no one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she

only smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world that

can be spared from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas.

Yours,” etc.

Mr. Darcy’s letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style, and still

different from either was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in return

for his last.

/ “Dear Sir, /

“I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will

soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as

you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has

more to give.

“Yours sincerely,” etc.

Miss Bingley’s congratulations to her brother on his approaching

marriage were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even to

Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her former

professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and

though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much

kinder answer than she knew was deserved.

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information was

as sincere as her brother’s in sending it. Four sides of paper were

insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of

being loved by her sister.

Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations

to Elizabeth from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the

Collinses were come themselves to Lucas Lodge. The reason of this

sudden removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so

exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew’s letter, that

Charlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till

the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend

was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their

meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she

saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her

husband. He bore it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even

listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away

the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all

meeting frequently at St. James’s, with very decent composure. If he did

shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Philips’s vulgarity was another, and, perhaps, a greater tax on his

forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as her sister, stood in

too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley’s

good-humour encouraged; yet, whenever she did speak, she must be

vulgar. Nor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at

all likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could to

shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to

keep him to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might

converse without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings

arising from all this took from the season of courtship much of its

pleasure, it added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward

with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so

little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance of their

family party at Pemberley.

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