you hate me."
"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard;
but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I
hope, quite so easily changed as that implies."
"When I wrote that letter," replied Darcy, "I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am
since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit."
"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But
think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it,
are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance
attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past
as its remembrance gives you pleasure."
"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally
void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much
better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot,
which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in
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principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I
was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only
son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves
(my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost
taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think
meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth
compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have
been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson,
hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you
without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to
please a woman worthy of being pleased."
"Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"
"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my
addresses."
"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to
deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after
THAT evening?"
"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction."
"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed
me for coming?"
"No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise."
"Your surprise could not be greater than MINE in being noticed by you. My conscience told me
that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive MORE
than my due."
"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not
so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion,
by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes
introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you."
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He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its
sudden interruption; which naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that
his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he
quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles
than what such a purpose must comprehend.
She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.
After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know any thing about it, they
found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.
"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!" was a wonder which introduced the discussion
of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest
information of it.
"I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.
"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."
"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much." And though he exclaimed at
the term, she found that it had been pretty much the case.
"On the evening before my going to London," said he, "I made a confession to him, which I
believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former
interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the
slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had
done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to
her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."
Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.
"Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when you told him that my sister loved
him, or merely from my information last spring?"
"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made
here; and I was convinced of her affection."
"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him."
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"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his
own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was
obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow
myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it,
and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer
than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now."
Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful friend; so easily guided
that his worth was invaluable; but she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn
to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley,
which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation till they
reached the house. In the hall they parted.
CHAPTER 59
"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was a question which Elizabeth received
from Jane as soon as she entered their room, and from all the others when they sat down to table.