Pride and Prejudice - Vol 1, Chapters 10-14

Chapter 10 The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend. And in the evening, Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing room. The loo table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter, and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at a game, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game. Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcerned with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in unison with her opinion of each. How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter! He made no answer. You write uncommonly fast. You are mistaken, I write rather slowly. How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year? Letters of business, too. How odious I should think them. It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours. Pray, tell your sister that I long to see her. I have already told her so once, by your desire. I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well. Thank you, but I always mend my own. How can you contrive to write so even? He was silent. Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray, let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's. Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice. Oh, it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy? They are generally long, but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine. It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write ill. That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline, cried her brother, because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy. My style of writing is very different from yours. Oh, cried Miss Bingley, Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words and blots the rest. My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them, by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondence. Your humility, Mr. Bingley, said Elizabeth, must disarm reproof. Nothing is more deceitful, said Darcy, than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion and sometimes an indirect boast. In which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty? The indirect boast, for you really are proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not esteemable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention, to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield, you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to sort of be a compliment to yourself. And yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else? Nay, cried Bingley, this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies. I daresay you believed it, but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chances that of any man I know. And if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say Bingley, you would better stay till next week, you would probably do it, you would probably not go, and, at another word, might stay a month. You have only proved by this, cried Elizabeth, that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself. I am exceedingly gratified, said Bingley, by her converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you were giving in a churn which that gentleman did by no means intend. For he would certainly think the better of me if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial and ride off as fast as I could. Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it? Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter. Darcy must speak for himself. You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house and the delay of his plan has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favor of its propriety. To yield readily, easily, to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you. To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either. You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case of you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs before we discuss the discretion of his behavior thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire without waiting to be argued into it? Will it not be advisable, before he proceed on the subject, to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties? By all means, cried Bingley, let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size. For that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more wonderful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, than in particular places, at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do. Mr. Darcy smiled, but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received in an expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense. I see your design, said his friend. You dislike an argument, and want to silence this. Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours to lie him out of the room, I shall be very thankful, and then you may say whatever you like of me. What you ask, said Elizabeth, is no sacrifice on my side, and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter. Mr. Darcy took his advice and did finish his letter. When that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the piano forte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the way, which the other is politely and more earnestly negative, she seated herself. Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth could not help observing as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man, and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last, that she drew his notice because there was a something about her more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right than in any other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation. After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively scotch air, and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her, "'Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to see such an opportunity of dancing a reel?' She smiled but made no answer. He repeated the question with some surprise at her silence. "'Oh,' said she, "'I heard you before, but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say yes, that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste. But I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all, and now despise me if you dare. Indeed, I do not dare.'" Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry. But there was a mixture of sweetness and arkness in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody, and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed that were it not for the inferiority of her connections he should be in some danger. This spingly saw, or suspected enough to be jealous, and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth. She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest by talking of their supposed marriage and planning his happiness in such an alliance. "'I hope,' said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the next day, "'you will give your mother-in-law a few hints when this desirable event takes place as to the advantage of holding her tongue, and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers. And if I may mention, so delicate a subject, endeavor to check that little something bordering on conceit and impertinence which your lady possesses.'" Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity? Oh, yes, do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips be placed in the gallery pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not attempt to have it taken for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes. It would not be easy indeed to catch their expression, but their color and shape in the eyelashes so remarkably fine might be copied. At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself. "'I did not know that you intended to walk,' said Miss Bingley in some confusion, lest they had been overheard. "'You used us abominably ill,' answered Mrs. Hurst, in running away without telling us that you were coming out. Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness and immediately said, "'This walk is not wide enough for our party. We'd better go into the avenue.'" But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them, laughingly answered, "'No, no, stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped and appear to be uncommon advantage. The picture ask would be spoiled by admitting a fourth. Goodbye.'" She then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambled about in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple hours that evening. CHAPTER XI. When the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her sister, and seeing her well-guarded from cold attended her into the drawing-room, where she was welcomed by her two friends with many professions of pleasure. And Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed before the gentleman appeared. Their powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humor, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit. But when the gentleman entered, Jane was no longer the first object. Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned towards Darcy, and she had something to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addressed himself directly to Miss Bennet with a polite congratulation. Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow and said he was very glad. But defuseness and warmth remained for Bingley's salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The first half hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room. And she removed at his desire to the other side of the fireplace that she might be farther from the door. He then sat down by her and talked scarcely to anyone else. Elizabeth at work in the opposite corner saw it all with great delight. When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card table. But in vain, she had obtained private intelligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards, and Mr. Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play and the silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book. Miss Bingley did the same. And Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now in that and her brother's conversation with Miss Bennet. Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcy's progress through his book as in reading her own, and she was perpetually either making some inquiry or looking at his page. She could not win him, however, tanny conversation. He merely answered her question and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way. I declare, after all, there is no enjoyment like reading. How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book. When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library. No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes around the room in quest of some amusement. When hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said, By the by, Charles, are you really serious in mediating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you before you determine on it to consult the wishes of the present party. I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure. If you mean Darcy, cried her brother, he may go to bed if he chooses before it begins. But as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing, and as soon as Nichols has made white soup enough, I shall send round my cards. I should like balls infinitely better, she replied, if they were carried on in a different manner. But there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the day. Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball. Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well. But Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one effort more, and turning to Elizabeth said, Miss Eliza Bennett, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude. Elizabeth was surprised but agreed to it immediately. Miss Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility. Mr. Darcy looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing that he could not imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives his joining them would interfere. What could he mean? She was dying to know what could be his meaning, and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand him. Not at all was her answer, but depend upon it. He means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it. Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two motives. I have not the smallest objection to explaining them, said he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking. If the first, I should be completely in your way, and if the second, I could admire you much better as I sit by the fire. Oh, shocking, cried Miss Bingley, I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech? Nothing so easy if you have but the inclination, said Elizabeth. We can all plague and punish one another, tease him, laugh at him, intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done. But upon my honour I do not. I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind. No, no, I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself. Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at, cried Elizabeth. That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss to me to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh. Miss Bingley, said he, has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest and the best of men, Nate, the wisest and the best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke. Certainly, replied Elizabeth, there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without. Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses, which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule, such as vanity and pride. Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed, but pride, where there is a real superiority of mind, pride, will be always under good regulation. Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile. Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume, said Miss Bingley, and pray, what is the result? I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise. No, said Darcy, I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not I hope of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding, certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor the offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever. That is a failing indeed, cried Elizabeth. Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me. There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect which not even the best education can overcome. And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody. And yours, he replied with a smile, is willfully to misunderstand them. Do let us have little music, cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hearst. Her sister made not the small subjection and the piano forte was opened, and Darcy, after a few moments recollection, was not sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention. CHAPTER XII In consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the next morning to her mother to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive them with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at least not to Elizabeth's wishes, for she was impatient to get home. Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday, and in her post-script it was added that if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well. Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively resolved. Nor did she much expect it would be asked, and fearful on the contrary as being considered as intruding themselves needlessly long, she urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately, and at length it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield that morning should be mentioned and the request made. The communication excited many professions of concern, and enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the following day to work on Jane, until the morrow their going was deferred. Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had proposed a delay for her jealousy and dislike of one sister much exceeded her affection for the other. The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be safe for her, that she was not enough recovered, but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right. To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence. Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked, and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more teasing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity, sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book and would not even look at her. On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly as well as her affection for Jane, and when they parted after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave of the whole party in the liveliest spirits. They were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their coming and thought them very wrong to give so much trouble and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. But their father, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really glad to see them. He had felt their importance in the family circle. The evening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much of its animation, and almost all its sense by the absence of Jane and Elizabeth. They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of thorough bass and human nature, and had some new extracts to admire and some new observations of threadbare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had information for them of a different sort. Much had been done, and much had been said in the Regiment since the preceding Wednesday. Several of the officers had died lately with their uncle. A private had been flogged, and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forrester was going to be married. CHAPTER XIII I hope, my dear, said Mr. Bennet to his wife as they were at breakfast the next morning, that you have ordered a good dinner today because I have a reason to expect an addition to our family party. Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in, and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home. The person of whom I speak is a gentleman and a stranger. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. A gentleman and a stranger. It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure. Why, Jane, you never dropped a word of this, you sly thing. While I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. But good Lord, how unlucky! There is not a bit of fish to be got today. Lydia, my love, ring the bell. I must speak to Hill this moment. It is not Mr. Bingley, said her husband. It is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life. This roused a general astonishment, and he had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and five daughters at once. After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained, About a month ago I received this letter, and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases. Oh, my dear, cried his wife, I cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray, do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world that your estate should be entailed away from your own children, and I am sure if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about it. Jane and Elizabeth attempted to explain to her the nature of an entail. They had often attempted it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling in a state away from a family of five daughters in favor of a man who nobody cared anything about. It certainly is the most iniquitous affair, said Mr. Bennet, and nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn, but if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself. No, that I am sure I shall not, and I think it was very important of him to write to you at all and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why could not he keep on quarreling with you as his father did before him? Why indeed, he does seem to have had some filial scruples on that head, as you will hear. Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15 October. Dear sir, the disagreements of sifting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me such uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach. But for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone, with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance. There, Mrs. Bennet. My mind, however, is now made up on the subject. For having received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the parsonage of the right honourable Lady Catherine de Borgue, widow of Sir Louis de Borgue, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her ladyship and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it is my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence, and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of goodwill are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in the entail of long-born estate will be kindly overlooked on your side and not lead you to reject the offered olive branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends, but of this hereafter. If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged due the duty of the day. I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your Lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend, William Collins. At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peacemaking gentleman, said Mr. Bennett, as he folded up the letter. He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word, and I doubt not will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so indulgent as to let him come to see us again. There is some sense in what he says about the girl so ever, and if he is disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him. Though it is difficult, said Jane, to guess in what way he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks are due, the wish is certainly to his credit. Elizabeth was chiefly struck with his extraordinary deference for Lady Catherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and bearing his parishioners whenever it were required. He must be an oddity, I think, said she. I cannot make him out. There is something very pompous in his style. And what can he mean by apologizing for being next in the entail? We cannot suppose he would help it, if he could. Can he be a sensible man, sir? No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him. In point of composition, said Mary, his letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive branch, perhaps, is not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed. To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in any degree interesting. It was next to impossible that their cousin should come in a scarlet coat, and it was now some week since they had received pleasure from the society of a man in any other color. As for their mother, Mr. Collins' letter had done away much of her ill will, and she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure, which astonished her husband and daughters. Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennett, indeed, said little, but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five and twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennett on having so fine a family of daughters, but that in this instance fame had fallen short of the truth, and added that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time well disposed of in marriage. The scallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers, but Mrs. Bennett, who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily, You are very kind, sir, I am sure, and I wish with all my heart it may prove so, for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly. You allude perhaps to the end-tail of this estate. Osser, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things I know are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how the states will go when once they come to be entailed. I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate, but I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but perhaps, when we are better acquainted. He was interrupted by a summons to dinner, and the girls smiled on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins' admiration. The hall, the dining room, and all its furniture were examined and praised, and his commendation of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennett's heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The dinner, too, in its churn, was highly admired, and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins the excellence of its cookery was owing. But here he was set right by Mrs. Bennett, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended, but he continued to apologize for about a quarter of an hour. Chapter 14 During dinner Mr. Bennett scarcely spoke at all, but when the servants were withdrawn he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to shine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness Lady Catherine de Berg's attention to his wishes, and consideration for his comfort appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennett could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him to more than usual salinity, of manner, and with the most important aspect he protested that he had never in his life witnessed such behavior in a person of rank, such affability as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses, which she had already had the honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at Rosings, and had sent for him only the Saturday before to make up her pool of quadril in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people he knew, but he had never seen anything but affability in her. She had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman. She made not the smallest objection to his joining in the society of the neighbourhood, nor to his leaving his parish occasionally for a week or two to visit his relations. She had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion, and had once paid him a visit in his humble parsonage, where she had perfectly approved all the alterations he had been making and had even vouched safe to suggest some herself, some shelves in the closets upstairs. That is all very proper and civil, I am sure, said Mrs. Bennett, and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir? The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence. I think you said she was a widow, sir. Has she any family? She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and very extensive property. Ah! cried Mrs. Bennett, shaking her head, then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome? She is the most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says at an important point of true beauty, Mr. Berg is far superior to the handsomeness of her sex, because there is that in her features, which marks the young woman of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not otherwise have failed of, as I am formed by the lady who superintended her education and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phantom and ponies. Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court. Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town, and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea, and you may imagine, that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. These are the kinds of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay. You judge very properly, said Mr. Bennet, and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study? They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied and air as possible. Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment, maintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance, and, except in an occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no partner in his pleasure. By tea time, however, the dose had been enough, and Mr. Bennet was glad to take his guest into the drawing-room again, and when tea was over, glad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented, and a book was produced. But on beholding it, for everything announced it to be from a circulating library, he started back, and begging pardon protested that he never read novels. Kitty stared at him, and Lydia exclaimed. Other books were produced, and after some deliberation, he chose Fordyce's sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous salinity, read three pages. She interrupted him with, Do you know, Mama, that my Uncle Phillips talks of turning away Richard, and if he does, Colonel Forrester will hire him? My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Maritain tomorrow to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town. Lydia was bid by her two elder sisters to hold her tongue, but Mr. Collins much offended, laid aside his book and said, I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess, for certainly there can be nothing so advantageous to them as instruction, but I will no longer importune my young cousin. Then, turning to Mr. Bennett, he offered himself as his antagonist at Backgammon. Mr. Bennett accepted the challenge, observing that he acted very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements. Mrs. Bennett and her daughters apologized most civilly for Lydia's interruption, and promised that it should not occur again. If he would resume his book. But Mr. Collins, after assuring them that he bore his young cousin no ill will, and should never resent her behavior as any affront, seated himself at another table with Mr. Bennett and prepared for Backgammon.