again.
In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing, she walked on; but it
would not do; in half a minute the letter was unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she
could, she again began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and commanded
herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence. The account of his connection with
the Pemberley family was exactly what he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr.
Darcy, though she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his own words. So
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far each recital confirmed the other; but when she came to the will, the difference was great.
What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very
words, it was impossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the other; and,
for a few moments, she flattered herself that her wishes did not err. But when she read and re-
read with the closest attention, the particulars immediately following of Wickham's resigning all
pretensions to the living, of his receiving in lieu so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds,
again was she forced to hesitate. She put down the letter, weighed every circumstance with what
she meant to be impartiality—deliberated on the probability of each statement—but with little
success. On both sides it was only assertion. Again she read on; but every line proved more
clearly that the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any contrivance could so
represent as to render Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a turn which
must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.
The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay at Mr. Wickham's charge,
exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could bring no proof of its injustice. She had never
heard of him before his entrance into the ——shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the
persuasion of the young man who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewed a
slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life nothing had been known in Hertfordshire but what
he told himself. As to his real character, had information been in her power, she had never felt a
wish of inquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the
possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished
trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least,
by the predominance of virtue, atone for those casual errors under which she would endeavour to
class what Mr. Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of many years' continuance. But no
such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before her, in every charm of air
and address; but she could remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of
the neighbourhood, and the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess. After
pausing on this point a considerable while, she once more continued to read. But, alas! the story
which followed, of his designs on Miss Darcy, received some confirmation from what had
passed between Colonel Fitzwilliam and herself only the morning before; and at last she was
referred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam himself—from whom she had
previously received the information of his near concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose
character she had no reason to question. At one time she had almost resolved on applying to him,
but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, and at length wholly banished
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by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would never have hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been
well assured of his cousin's corroboration.
She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Wickham and
herself, in their first evening at Mr. Phillips's. Many of his expressions were still fresh in her
memory. She was NOW struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and
wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had
done, and the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct. She remembered that he had
boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy—that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that
HE should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next week. She
remembered also that, till the Netherfield family had quitted the country, he had told his story to
no one but herself; but that after their removal it had been everywhere discussed; that he had then
no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr. Darcy's character, though he had assured her that respect
for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.
How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned! His attentions to Miss
King were now the consequence of views solely and hatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of
her fortune proved no longer the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at
anything. His behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive; he had either been
deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying his vanity by encouraging the
preference which she believed she had most incautiously shown. Every lingering struggle in his
favour grew fainter and fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but allow
Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago asserted his blamelessness in the affair; that
proud and repulsive as were his manners, she had never, in the whole course of their
acquaintance—an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much together, and given her a
sort of intimacy with his ways—seen anything that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust—
anything that spoke him of irreligious or immoral habits; that among his own connections he was
esteemed and valued—that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother, and that she had
often heard him speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove him capable of SOME amiable
feeling; that had his actions been what Mr. Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of
everything right could hardly have been concealed from the world; and that friendship between a
person capable of it, and such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without
feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.
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"How despicably I have acted!" she cried; "I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I,
who have valued myself on my abilities! who have often disdained the generous candour of my
sister, and gratified my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! How humiliating is this
discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more
wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of one,