to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was
wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.
In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a
man's affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for
the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all
compassion in anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience, when
he should have done. He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment
which, in spite of all his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing
his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could
easily see that he had no doubt of a favourable answer. He SPOKE of apprehension and anxiety,
136
but his countenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance could only exasperate farther,
and, when he ceased, the colour rose into her cheeks, and she said:
"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the
sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should
be felt, and if I could FEEL gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot—I have never
desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to
have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will
be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment
of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."
Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to
catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger,
and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the
appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it.
The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful. At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he
said:
"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to
be informed why, with so little ENDEAVOUR at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small
importance."
"I might as well inquire," replied she, "why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting
me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even
against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I WAS uncivil? But I have
other provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you—had they been
indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt
me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a
most beloved sister?"
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion was short, and he
listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued:
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and
ungenerous part you acted THERE. You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the
principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other—of exposing one to the
137
censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed
hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved
him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected
incredulity.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity he then replied: "I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my
power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards HIM I
have been kinder than towards myself."
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection, but its meaning did not
escape, nor was it likely to conciliate her.
"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which my dislike is founded. Long before it
had taken place my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital
which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to
say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? or under what
misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?"
"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," said Darcy, in a less tranquil tone, and
with a heightened colour.
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes, his misfortunes have been great
indeed."
"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "You have reduced him to his present state
of poverty—comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to
have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence
which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you can treat the
mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule."
"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, "is your opinion of me!
This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults,
138
according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps," added he, stopping in his walk, and
turning towards her, "these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt
by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design.
These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater policy, concealed my
struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed
inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.
Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to
rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?—to congratulate myself on the hope of relations,
whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to the utmost to speak
with composure when she said:
"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in
any other way, than as it spared the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you
behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."
She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:
"You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted