acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She dared not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity,
however, was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how
far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in a hesitating manner
how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.
"About a month," said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, "He is a man
of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand."
"Yes," replied Mr. Wickham; "his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum.
You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that
head than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my
infancy."
Elizabeth could not but look surprised.
"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably
might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr.
Darcy?"
"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabeth very warmly. "I have spent four days in the same
house with him, and I think him very disagreeable."
"I have no right to give MY opinion," said Wickham, "as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I
am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is
impossible for ME to be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general astonish
57
—and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you are in your
own family."
"Upon my word, I say no more HERE than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood,
except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride.
You will not find him more favourably spoken of by anyone."
"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said Wickham, after a short interruption, "that he or that any man
should not be estimated beyond their deserts; but with HIM I believe it does not often happen.
The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing
manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen."
"I should take him, even on MY slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man." Wickham only
shook his head.
"I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, "whether he is likely to be in this
country much longer."
"I do not at all know; but I HEARD nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope
your plans in favour of the ——shire will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood."
"Oh! no—it is not for ME to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If HE wishes to avoid seeing ME, he
must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no
reason for avoiding HIM but what I might proclaim before all the world, a sense of very great ill-
usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr.
Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had; and I can
never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender
recollections. His behaviour to myself has been scandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive
him anything and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory
of his father."
Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all her heart; but the
delicacy of it prevented further inquiry.
Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society,
appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with gentle but
very intelligible gallantry.
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"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society," he added, "which was my chief
inducement to enter the ——shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my
friend Denny tempted me further by his account of their present quarters, and the very great
attentions and excellent acquaintances Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary
to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I MUST have
employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have
now made it eligible. The church OUGHT to have been my profession—I was brought up for the
church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased
the gentleman we were speaking of just now."
"Indeed!"
"Yes—the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He
was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant
to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given
elsewhere."
"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but how could THAT be? How could his will be disregarded?
Why did you not seek legal redress?"
"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law.
A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it—or to
treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it
by extravagance, imprudence—in short anything or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became
vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man;
and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to
lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion OF him, and TO
him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men,
and that he hates me."
"This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced."
"Some time or other he WILL be—but it shall not be by ME. Till I can forget his father, I can
never defy or expose HIM."
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed
them.
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"But what," said she, after a pause, "can have been his motive? What can have induced him to
behave so cruelly?"
"A thorough, determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure
to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but
his father's uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had not a
temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was
often given me."
"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him. I had not thought so
very ill of him. I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not