Chapter 18

TILL Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield
and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of
red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being present had
never occurred to her.  The certainty of meeting him had not
been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alarmed her.  She had dressed with more than
usual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest
of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it
was not more than might be won in the course of the evening.
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; and though this was not exactly the
case the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his
friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who
told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on
business the day before, and was not yet returned; adding,
with a significant smile,
"I do not imagine his business would have called him away
just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman 
here."
This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was
caught by Elizabeth, and as it assured her that Darcy was not
less answerable for Wickham's absence than if her first surmise 
had been just, every feeling of displeasure against the
former was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that
she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite
inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make.
 -- Attention, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to
Wickham.  She was resolved against any sort of conversation
with him, and turned away with a degree of ill humour, which
she could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. 
Bingley, whose blind partiality provoked her.
But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though
every prospect of her own was destroyed for the evening, it
could not dwell long on her spirits; and having told all her
griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week,
she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities
of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice
The two first dances, however, brought a return of distress;
they were dances of mortification.  Mr. Collins, awkward and
solemn, apologising instead of attending, and 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 exstacy.
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 she was left to fret over her own want
of presence of mind; 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 recommenced, however, and Darcy
approached to claim her hand, Charlotte could not help
cautioning her in a whisper not to be a simpleton and allow
her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the
eyes of a man of ten times his consequence.  Elizabeth made
no answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity
to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite
to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbours' looks their
equal amazement in beholding it.  They stood for some time
without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that their
silence was to last through the two dances, and at first was
resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would
be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to
talk, she made some slight observation on the dance.  He
replied, and was again silent.  After a pause of some minutes
second time with
"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. -- I talked
about the dance, and you ought to make some kind 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. -- That reply will do for the present. --
Perhaps by and bye 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
as posslble.
 "Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case,
or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," replied Elizabeth archly; "for I have always seen a
great similarity in the tum of our minds. -- We are each of an
unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we
expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and
be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of 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 desirous of changing
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 perceiving Mr. Darcy he stopt with a bow of
superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his
partner.
"I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir.  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 Miss Eliza, (glancing at her sister
and Bingley,) shall 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 upbraiding 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.  Sir William could
not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less
to say for themselves. -- We have tried two or three subjects
already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine."
"What think you 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 be the case, there can
at least be no want of subject. -- 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 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 incumbent on 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,
endeavouring to shake off her gravity.  "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 report
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 on either."
"But if I do not take your likeness 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; on each side dissatisfied,
though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was
a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured
her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.
They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came
towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain thus
accosted her,
"So, 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; and I find that the young
man forgot to tell you, among his other communications, that
he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward.
Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give
implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy's
using him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has
been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham
has treated Mr. Darcy, in a most infamous manner.  I do not
know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy
is not in the least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George
Wickham mentioned, and that though my brother thought he
could not well avoid including him in his invitation to the
officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself 
out of the way.  His coming into the country at all, is a
most insolent thing indeed, and I wonder how he could presume 
to do it.  I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your
not expect much better."
"His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the
same," said Elizabeth angrily; "for I have heard you accuse
him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's
steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself."
"I beg your pardon," replied Miss Bingley, turning away
with a sneer.  "Excuse my interference. -- It was kindly meant."
"Insolent girl!" said Elizabeth to herself. -- "You are much
mistaken 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."  She then sought her eldest sister,
who had undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of
Blngley.  Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency,
a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how
well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening --
Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment
solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies and
every thing else gave way before the hope of Jane's being in
the fairest way for happiness.
"I want to know," said she, with a countenance no less
smiling than her sister's, "what you have learnt about Mr. 
Wickham.  But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged
my pardon.
"No," replied Jane, "I have not forgotten him; but I have
notjing satisfactory to tell you.  Mr. Bingley does not know
the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy; but he
will vouch for the good conduct, the probity and honour of
his friend, and 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 by his account as well as
his sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means 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 fill the other morning at Meryton."
"This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy.
I am perfectly 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. Bingley's defence of his friend was a
very able one I dare say, but since he is unacquainted with
several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that
friend himself, I shall venture still to think of both gentlemen
as I did before."
She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to
each, and on which there could be no difference of sentiment.
Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest
hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley's regard, and said all
in her power to heighten her confidence in it.  On their being
joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to Miss
Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last
partner she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up
to them and told her with great exultation that he had just
been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery.
"I have found out," said he, "by a singular accident, that
there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness.  I
happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to
the young lady who does the honours of this house the names
of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady
Catherine.  How wonderfully these sort of things occur!  Who
would have thought of my meeting with -- perhaps -- a nephew
of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! -- I am most
thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my
respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will
excuse my not having done it before.  My total ignorance of the
connection must plead my apology."
"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?"
"Indeed I am.  I shall intreat his pardon for not having done
it earlier.  I believe him to be Lady Catherine's nephew.  It will
be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well
yesterday se'nnight."
Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme;
assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing
him without introduction as an impertinent freedom, rather
than a compliment to his aunt; that it was not in the least
necessary there should be any notice on either side, and that if
it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in consequence, 
to begin the acquaintance. -- Mr. Collins listened to
her with the determined air of following his own inclination
and when she ceased speaking, replied thus,
"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the
world of your excellent judgment in all matters within the
scope of your understanding, but permit me to say that there
must be a wide difference between the established forms of
ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the
clergy; for give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical
office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the
kingdom -- provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at
the same time maintained.  You must therefore allow me to
follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which
leads me to perform what I look on as a point of duty.  Pardon
me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other
subject shall be my constant guide, though in the case before
us I consider myself more fitted by education and habitual
study to decide on what is right than a young lady like yourself."  
And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy,
whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and
whose astonishment at being so addressed was very evident.
Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and though
she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and
saw in the motion of his lips the words "apology," "Hunsford,"
and "Lady Catherine de Bourgh." -- It vexed her to see him
expose himself to such a man.  Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with
unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed
him time to speak, replied with an air of distant civility.  Mr. 
Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again,
and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed abundantly increasing with
the length of his second speech, and at the end of it he only
made him a slight bow, and moved another way.  Mr. Collins
then returned to Elizabeth.
"I have no reason, I assure you," said he, "to be dissatisfied
with my reception.  Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the
attention.  He answered me with the utmost civility, and even
paid me the compliment of saying, that he was so well convinced 
of Lady Catherine's discernment as to be certain she
could never bestow a favour unworthily.  It was really a very
handsome thought.  Upon the whole, I am much pleased
with him."
As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to
pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister
and Mr. Bingley, and the train of agreeable reflections which
her observations gave birth to, made her perhaps almost as
happy as Jane.  She saw her in idea settled in that very house
in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection could
bestow; and she felt capable under such circumstances, of
endeavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters.  Her mother's
thoughts she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she
determined not to venture near her, lest she might hear too
much.  When they sat down to supper, therefore, she considered 
it a most unlucky perverseness which placed them
within one of each other; and deeply was she vexed to find
that her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas)
freely, openly, and of nothing else but of her expectation that
Jane would be soon married to Mr. Bingley. -- It was an
animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of
fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match.  His
being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living
but three miles from them, were the first points of self-
gratulation; and then it was such a comfort to think how fond
the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that they must
desire the connection as much as she could do.  It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as
Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of
other rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life
to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their
sister, that she might not be obliged to go into company more
than she liked.  It was necessary to make this circumstance a
matter of pleasure, because on such occasions it is the etiquette -
but no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to find comfort in
staying at home at any period of her life.  She concluded with
many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally
fortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there
was no chance of it.
In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her
mother's words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a
less audible whisper; for to her inexpressible vexation she
could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. 
Darcy, who sat opposite to them.  Her mother only scolded her
for being nonsensical.
"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of
him?  I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to
be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear."
"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. -- What advantage
can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? -- You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing."
Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence.
Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible
tone.  Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and
vexation.  She could not help frequently glancing her eye at
Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she
dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother,
she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by
her.  The expression of his face changed gradually from
indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity.
At length however Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and
Lady Lucas, who had been long yawning at the repetition of
delights which she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to
the comforts of cold ham and chicken.  Elizabeth now began
to revive.  But not long was the interval of tranquillity; for
when supper was over, singing was talked of, and she had the
mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the company.  By many significant looks and
silent entreaties, did she endeavour to prevent such a proof
of complaisance, -- but in vain; Mary would not understand
them; such an opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her,
and she began her song.  Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her
with most painful sensations; and she watched her progress
through the several stanzas with an impatience which was very
ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving amongst the
thanks of the table, the hint of a hope that she might be prevailed 
on to favour them again, after the pause of half a
minute began another.  Mary's powers were by no means
fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner
affected. -- Elizabeth was in agonies.  She looked at Jane, to
see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly talking to
Bingley.  She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making
signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued
however impenetrably grave.  She looked at her father to
entreat his interference, lest Mary should be singing all night.
He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second
song, said aloud,
"That will do extremely well, child.  You have delighted
us long enough.  Let the other young ladies have time to
exhibit."
Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat
disconcerted; and Elizabeth sorry for her, and sorry for her
father's speech, was afraid her anxiety had done no good. --
Others of the party were now applied to.
"If I," said Mr. Collins, "were so fortunate as to be able to
sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the
company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent
diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a
clergyman. -- I do not mean however to assert that we can
be justified in devoting too much of our time to
there are certainly other things to be attended to.  The rector
of a parish has much to do. -- In the first place, he must make
such a agreement for tythes as may be beneficial to himself
and not offensive to his patron.  He must write his own sermons; 
and the time that remains will not be too much for his
parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling,
which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as
possible.  And I do not think it of light importance that he
should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards every
body, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment.  
I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well
of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his
respect towards any body connected with the family."  And
with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had
been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room. -- Many
stared. -- Many smiled; but no one looked more amused than
Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously commended
Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a
half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever,
good kind of young man.
To Elizabeth it appeared, that had her family made an
agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during
the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play
their parts with more spirit, or finer success; and happy did
she think it for Bingley and her sister that some of the exhibition 
had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of
a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he must have
witnessed.  That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however,
should have such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations
was bad enough, and she could not determine whether the
silent contempt of the gentleman, or the insolent smiles of
the ladies, were more intolerable.
The rest of the evening brought her little amusement.  She
was teazed by Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly
by her side, and though he could not prevail with her to dance
with him again, put it out of her power to dance with others,
In vain did she entreat him to stand up with somebody else,
and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room.  He
assured her that as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to
it; that his chief object was by delicate attentions to recommend himself to her, and that he should therefore make a point
of remaining close to her the whole evening.  There was no
arguing upon such a project.  She owed her greatest relief to
her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and good-
naturedly engaged Mr. Collins's conversation to herself.
She was at least free from the offence of Mr. Darcy's farther
notice; though often standing within a very short distance of
her, quite disengaged, he never came near enough to speak,
She felt it to be the probable consequence of her allusions to
Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in it.
 The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to
depart; and by a manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet had to wait for
their carriages a quarter of an hour after every body else was
gone, which gave them time to see how heartily they were
wished away by some of the family.  Mrs. Hurst and her sister
scarcely opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue,
and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves.
They repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation,
and by so doing, threw a languor over the whole party, which
was very little relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins,
who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the
elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their behaviour to their guests.  Darcy
said nothing at all.  Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying
the scene.  Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a
little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other.
Elizabeth preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst
or Miss Bingley; and even lydia was to much fatigued to
utter more than the occasional exclaimation of "Lord how tired
I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn.
When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was
most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family
soon at Longbourn; and addressed herself particularly to
Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy he would make them,
by eating a family dinner with them at any time, without the
ceremony of a formal invitation.  Bingley was all grateful
pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest
opportunity of waiting on her, after his return from London,
whither he was obliged to go the next day for a short time.
Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied; and quitted the house
under the delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations of settlements, new carriages and wedding
clothes, 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, and with considerable, though not equal,
pleasure.  Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children;
and though the man and the match were quite good enough for
her, the worth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and
Netherfield.