going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the
first place?"
"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is
too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I HAD begun."
"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behaviour to YOU was at
least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give
you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?"
"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."
"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were
sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who
were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for YOUR approbation alone. I roused, and
interested you, because I was so unlike THEM. Had you not been really amiable, you would
have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were
always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so
assiduously courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all
things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good
of me—but nobody thinks of THAT when they fall in love."
"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane while she was ill at Netherfield?"
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"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good
qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in
return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be;
and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last.
What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially,
when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?"
"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."
"But I was embarrassed."
"And so was I."
"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."
"A man who had felt less, might."
"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so
reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you WOULD have gone on, if you had been
left to yourself. I wonder when you WOULD have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution
of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. TOO MUCH, I am afraid;
for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise? for I ought not
to have mentioned the subject. This will never do."
"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable
endeavours to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my
present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to
wait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined
at once to know every thing."
"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of
use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to
Longbourn and be embarrassed? or had you intended any more serious consequence?"
"My real purpose was to see YOU, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make
you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister were
still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made."
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"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to befall her?"
"I am more likely to want more time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to done, and if you
will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly."
"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your
writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer
neglected."
From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy had been over-rated,
Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner's long letter; but now, having THAT to
communicate which she knew would be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find that her
uncle and aunt had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as follows:
"I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done, for your long, kind,
satisfactory, detail of particulars; but to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed
more than really existed. But NOW suppose as much as you choose; give a loose to your fancy,
indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the subject will afford, and unless you
believe me actually married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very soon, and praise
him a great deal more than you did in your last. I thank you, again and again, for not going to the
Lakes. How could I be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful. We will go
round the Park every day. I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said
so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh.
Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world that he can spare from me. You are all to come to
Pemberley at Christmas. Yours, etc."
Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style; and still different from either was
what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in reply to his last.
"DEAR SIR,
"I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy.
Console Lady Catherine as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He
has more to give.
"Yours sincerely, etc."
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Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his approaching marriage, were all that was
affectionate and insincere. She wrote even to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and
repeat all her former professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and
though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much kinder answer than she
knew was deserved.
The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information, was as sincere as her
brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her
earnest desire of being loved by her sister.
Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations to Elizabeth from his
wife, the Longbourn family heard that the Collinses were come themselves to Lucas lodge. The
reason of this sudden removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so