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get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last
summer."
"Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?"
"I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady."
"And what arts did he use to separate them?"
"He did not talk to me of his own arts," said Fitzwilliam, smiling. "He only told me what I have
now told you."
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching
her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.
"I am thinking of what you have been telling me," said she. "Your cousin's conduct does not suit
my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?"
"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?"
"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination, or
why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend
was to be happy. But," she continued, recollecting herself, "as we know none of the particulars, it
is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case."
"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but it is a lessening of the honour of my
cousin's triumph very sadly."
This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would
not trust herself with an answer, and therefore, abruptly changing the conversation talked on
indifferent matters until they reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room, as soon as
their visitor left them, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. It was not to
be supposed that any other people could be meant than those with whom she was connected.
There could not exist in the world TWO men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless
influence. That he had been concerned in the measures taken to separate Bingley and Jane she
had never doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and
arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, HE was the cause, his
pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He
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had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the
world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.
"There were some very strong objections against the lady," were Colonel Fitzwilliam's words;
and those strong objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney,
and another who was in business in London.
"To Jane herself," she exclaimed, "there could be no possibility of objection; all loveliness and
goodness as she is!—her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners
captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some
peculiarities, has abilities Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will
probably never each." When she thought of her mother, her confidence gave way a little; but she
would not allow that any objections THERE had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride,
she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend's
connections, than from their want of sense; and she was quite decided, at last, that he had been
partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley for
his sister.
The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned, brought on a headache; and it grew so
much worse towards the evening, that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it
determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs.
Collins, seeing that she was really unwell, did not press her to go and as much as possible
prevented her husband from pressing her; but Mr. Collins could not conceal his apprehension of
Lady Catherine's being rather displeased by her staying at home.
Chapter 34
When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against
Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all the letters which Jane had written to
her since her being in Kent. They contained no actual complaint, nor was there any revival of
past occurrences, or any communication of present suffering. But in all, and in almost every line
of each, there was a want of that cheerfulness which had been used to characterise her style, and
which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with itself and kindly disposed towards
everyone, had been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth noticed every sentence conveying the idea
of uneasiness, with an attention which it had hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's
shameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her a keener sense of her sister's
sufferings. It was some consolation to think that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after
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the next—and, a still greater, that in less than a fortnight she should herself be with Jane again,
and enabled to contribute to the recovery of her spirits, by all that affection could do.
She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was to go with
him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as
he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him.
While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits
were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before
called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was
soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she
saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after
her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with
cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room.
Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards
her in an agitated manner, and thus began:
"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to
tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent.
This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt
for her, immediately followed. He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of the heart
to be detailed; and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense
of her inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the family obstacles which had always opposed