Chapter 18

ELIZABETH'S spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she
wanted Mr. Uarcy 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 layed 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 knew 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
teazing 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
any opening of your's.  My Aunts intelligence had given me
hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.
 "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 consequence?"
 "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 were 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 more time than courage, Elizabeth.
But it ought to 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 eveness 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 over-rated, 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 chuse; 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 evcry day.  I am the happiest creature in the
world.  Perhaps other people have said so before, but not
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 he can spare from me.  You are all to come to
Pemberley at Christmas.  Your's, &c."
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 reply to 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, &c."
Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his
approching 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 sir ere 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.