Pride and Prejudice - Vol 1, Chapters 18-19

Chapter 18 To Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham, among the cluster of red coats they were assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alarmed her. She addressed with more than usual care, and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more than might be one in the course of the evening. But in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy's pleasure and the Bingley's invitation to the officers. And though this was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend Mr. Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before and was not yet returned, adding with a significant smile. I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here. This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was caught by Elizabeth, and as it assured her that Darcy was not less answerable for Wickham's absence than if her first surmise had been just, every feeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate disappointment that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make. Attention forbearance patients with Darcy was injury to Wickham. She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and turned away with a degree of ill-humor which she could not wholly surmount, even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind partiality provoked her. But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humor, and though every prospect of her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on her spirits. And having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas whom she had not seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice. The two first dances, however, brought a return of distress. They were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologizing instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. The moment of her release from him was ecstasy. She danced next with an officer and had the refreshment of talking of Wickham and of hearing that he was universally liked. When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas and was in conversation with her when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took her so much by surprise in his application of her hand that without knowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of mind. Charlotte tried to console her. I dare say you will find a very agreeable. Heaven forbid that would be the greatest misfortune of all, to find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate. Do not wish me such an evil. When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a whisper, not to be a simpleton and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man of ten times' consequence. Elizabeth made no answer and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbor's looks their equal amazement in beholding it. He stood for some time without speaking a word, and she began to imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances, and at first was resolved not to break it. Till suddenly, fancing that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied and was again silent. After her pause of some minutes she addressed him a second time with, it is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy, I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room or the number of couples. He smiled and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said. Very well, that reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by, I may observe that private bowls are much pleasanter than public ones, but now we may be silent. Do you talk by rule then while you are dancing? Sometimes one must speak a little, you know, it would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible. Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine? Both replied Elizabeth, for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the clad of a proverb. This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure, said he, how near it may be to mine I cannot pretend to say. Do you think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly? I must not decide on my own performance. You may know answer, and they were again silent until they had gone down the dance when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Maryton. She answered in the affirmative and unable to resist the temptation added, when you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance. The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hot terror overspread his features, but he said not a word. In Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said, Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends, whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain. He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship, replied Elizabeth with emphasis, and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life. Darcy may know answer, and seem desirous of changing the subject. At that moment Sir William Luchlis appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room, but on perceiving Mr. Darcy he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his partner. I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir, such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, glancing at her sister, and Bingley, shall take place. What congratulations will then flow in? I appeal to Mr. Darcy, but let me not interrupt you. Sir, you will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady whose bright eyes are also unbraiding me. The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy, but Sir William's illusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together, recovering himself. However, shortly he turned to his partner and said, Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of. I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine. What think of you of books, said he's smiling? Books, oh no, I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings. I am sorry you think so, but if that be the case, there can at least be no one of subject, we may compare our different opinions. No, I cannot talk of books in a ballroom, my head is always full of something else. The present always occupies you in such scenes, doesn't, said he, with a look of doubt. Yes, always, she replied, without knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject. As soon afterwards, appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You were very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created. I am, said he, with a firm voice, and never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice. I hope not. It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion to be secure of judging properly at first. May I ask to what these questions tend? Mearily, till the illustration of your character, said she, endeavoring to shake off her gravity, I am trying to make it out. And what is your success? She shook her head. I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly. I can readily believe, answered he gravely, that report may vary greatly with respect to me, and I could wish, Miss Bennett, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either. But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity. I would by no means have spent any pleasure of yours, he coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence, on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree. Her and Darcy's breast, there is a tolerable, powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon and directed all his anger against another. They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain, thus accosted her. So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham. Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions. And I find that the young man forgot to tell you, among his other communications, that he was the son of Old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give him implicit confidence to all his assertions. For as to Mr. Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false. For on the contrary, he has been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and that though my brother thought he could not well avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent thing indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favorite guilt, but really considering his descent, one could not expect much better. His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same, Siddhalis with Angrily. For I've heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and of that I can assure you he informed me himself. I beg your pardon, replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. Excuse my interference. It was kindly meant. The innocent girl, Siddhalis, with to herself, you're much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a poultry attack as this. I see nothing in it, but your own willful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy. She then sought her eldest sister who had undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, has sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the evening. Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else gave way before the hope of Jane's being in the fairest way for happiness. I want to know, said she, with accountants no less smiling than her sisters. What you have learned about Mr. Wickham, but perhaps you've been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person, in which case you may be sure of my pardon. No reply, Jane, I have not forgotten him, but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy, but he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity, and honor of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention for Mr. Darcy than he has received. And I am sorry to say that by his account, as well as his sisters, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very impudent and is deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's regard. Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself. No, he never saw him till the other morning at Mariton. This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am perfectly satisfied, but what does he say of the living? He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to him conditionally only. I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's sincerity, said Elizabeth warmly, but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurance is only. Mr. Bingley's defense of his friend was a variable one, I dare say. But since he is unequainted with several parts of the story and has learnt the rest from that friend himself, I shall venture still to think of both gentlemen as I did before. She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each and on which there could be no difference of sentiment. Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley's regard and said all in her power to heighten her confidence in it. On there being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to misleukus, to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last partner should scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them and told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as to make a most important discovery. I have found out, said he by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honors of this house, the names of his cousin, Mr. Berg, and of her mother, Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur. Who could have thought of my meeting with perhaps a nephew of Lady Catherine to Berg in this assembly? I am most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology. You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy. Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine's nephew. He will be in my power to assure him that her leadership was quite well yesterday's night. Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme, assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as an impertinent freedom rather than a compliment to his aunt. That it was not in the least necessary, there should be any notice on either side, and that if it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in consequence, to begin the acquaintance. Mr. Collins listened to her with the determined air of following his own inclination, and when she ceased speaking, replied thus. My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your understanding. But permit me to say that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony against the Lady and those which regulate the clergy for give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom, provided that a proper humility of behavior is at the same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other subject should be my constant guide, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a young lady like yourself. And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at being so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaces speech with a solemn bow, and though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the words apology, and the comfort and lady cathand a bird. It vexed her to see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak, replied with an air of distance civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed abundantly increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the end of it he only made him a slight bow and moved another way. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth. "'I have no reason,' I assure you,' said he, "'to be dissatisfied with my reception.' Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine's discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favor unworthily. It was really a very handsome thought. Upon the whole I am much pleased with him.' As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley, and the train of agreeable reflections, which her observation gave birth to, made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She saw her in idea settled in that very house, and all the felicity which a marriage of true affection could bestow. And she felt capable under such circumstances of endeavouring even to like Bingley's two sisters. Her mother's thoughts she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to venture near her, lest she might hear too much. When I sat down to supper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky perverseness, which placed them within one of each other, and deeply was she vexed to find that her mother was talking to that one person, Lady Lucas, freely, openly, and of nothing else, but of her expectation that Jane would be soon married to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennett seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match, his being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but three miles from them, were the first points of self-credulation. And then it was such a comfort to think how far the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that they must desire the connection as much as she could do. It was moreover such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men. And lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister that she might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. It was necessary to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure, because on such occasions it is the etiquette. But no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennett to find comfort and staying at home at any period of her life. She concluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though evidently and triumphantly believing there was no chance of it. In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother's words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in the less audible whisper for to her in expressible vexation, she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. Her mother only scolded her for being nonsensical. What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear. For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? She will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing. Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently glance in her eye at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she dreaded. For though he was not always looking at her mother, she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression of his face changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity. At length, however, Mrs. Bennett had no more to say, and Lady Lucas, who had been long yawning at the repetition of delights, which she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth now began to revive, but not long was the interval of tranquility. Her one supper was over, singing was talked of, and she had the mortification of singing Mary, after very little in treaty, preparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent in treaties, did she endeavor to prevent such a proof of complacence, but in vain? Mary would not understand them. Such an opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song. Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her, with most painful sensations, and she watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience, which was very ill-rewarded at their close. For Mary, on receiving amongst the thanks of the table, the hint of hope that she might be prevailed on to favor them again, after the pause of half a minute, began another. Mary's powers were by no means fitted for such a display. Her voice was weak, and her man are affected. Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at Jane to see how she bore it, but Jane was very compositely talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sifters and saw them making signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy continued however impenetrable grave. She looked at her father to entreat his interference, less Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud, that will do extremely well, child, you have delighted us long enough, let the other young ladies have time to exhibit. Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted, and Elizabeth, sorry for her, and sorry for her father's speech, was afraid her anxiety had done no good. Others of the party were now applied to. If I, said Mr. Collins, were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air. For I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean however to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first place he must make such an agreement for ties, as may be beneficial to himself, and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons, and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused for making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes his performance. I cannot acquit him of that duty, nor could I think well of the man who should admit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family. And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room. Many stared, many smiled, but no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennett himself. While his wife seriously commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a half whisper to Lady Lucas that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man. To a Lisbon that appeared that had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or finer success. And happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister that some of the exhibition had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he must have witnessed. That his two sisters in Mr. Darcy, however, should have such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations was bad enough, and she could not determine whether the silent contempt of the gentleman or the insolent smiles of the ladies were more intolerable. The rest of the evening brought her a little amusement. She was teased by Mr. Collins who continued most perseveringly by her side, and though he could not prevail with her to dance with him again, put it out of her power to dance with others. In vain did she even treat him to stand up with somebody else and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room. He assured her that as to dancing he was perfectly indifferent to it. That his chief object was by delicate tensions to recommend himself to her, and that he should therefore make a point of remaining close to her the whole evening. There is no arguing upon such a project. She owed her greatest relief to her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them and good naturally engaged Mr. Collins' conversation to herself. There was at least free from the offence of Mr. Darcy's farther notice. Though often, standing within a very short distance of her quite disengaged, he never came near enough to speak. She felt it to be the probable consequence of her illusions to Mr. Wickham and rejoiced in it. The long-born party were the last of all the company to depart, and by a maneuver of Mrs. Bennett had to wait for their carriage a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone, which gave them time to see how heartily they were wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her sister scarcely opened their mouths, except to complain of fatigue, and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennett at conversation, and by doing so, through a langour over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins, who was complementing Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their entertainment and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their behavior to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennett and equal silence was enjoying the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other. Elizabeth preserved as steadiest silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Mrs. Bingley, and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of, Lord, how tired I am, accompanied by a violent yawn. When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennett was most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longborn, and addressed herself particularly to Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy he would make them by eating a family dinner with them at any time, without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Mrs. Bennett was all grateful pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on her after his return from London, which he was obliged to go the next day for a short time. Mrs. Bennett was perfectly satisfied and quitted the house under the delightful persuasion that allowing for the necessary preparations of settlements, new carriages and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly see her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three or four months. With having another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought with equal certainty, and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure. Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children, and though the man and the match were quite good enough for her, the worth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield. Chapter 19 The next day opened a new scene at Longborn. Mr. Collins made his declaration in form, having resolved to do it without loss of time, as his leave of absence extended only to the following Saturday, and having no feelings of dividends to make it distressing to himself even at the moment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with all the observances which he supposed a regular part of the business. In finding Mrs. Bennett, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together soon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words, May I help Madam, for your interest, with your fair daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this morning. Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennett instantly answered, Oh dear, yes certainly, I am sure Lizzie will be very happy, I am sure she can have no objection, come kitty, I want you upstairs, and gathering her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out, Dear ma'am, do not go, I beg you will not go. Mr. Collins must excuse me, he can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not here, I am going away myself. No, no, nonsense Lizzie, I desire you will stay where you are, and upon Elizabeth seeming really with vexed and embarrassed looks about to escape, she added, Lizzie, I insist upon you staying in hearing Mr. Collins. Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction, and a moment's consideration, making her also sensible, that it would be wise to get it over as soon as quietly as possible. She sat down again and tried to conceal by incest and employment, the feelings which were divided between distress and diversion. Mrs. Bennett and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were gone, Mr. Collins began. Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes, had there not been this little unwillingness, but allow me to assure you that I have your respected mother's permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to disassemble. My intentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with, by my feelings on the subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying, and moreover for coming to Hertfordshire, the design of selecting a wife as I certainly did. The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure being ran away by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not use the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him farther. And he continued, My reasons for marrying are first that I think at a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances, like myself, to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness, and thirdly, which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady, whom I have the honor of calling my patroness. Twice has she conned ascended to give me her opinion unasked too on the subject. And it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford, between our pools at Quadril, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Mr. Burg's footstool that she said, Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentleman for my sake and for your own. Let her be an active useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her. Allow me, by the way, to observe my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Burg as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe, and your wit and vivacity I think must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus, much from my general intention in favor of matrimony, it remains to be told why my views are directed to Longborn instead of my own neighborhood, where I assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is that being as I am to inherit this estate after the death of your honored father, who however may live many years longer, I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible when the melancholy event takes place, which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself, it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection. To fortune, I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with, and that 1,000 pounds in the four percent, which will not be yours to laugh to your mother's deceased, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent, and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married. It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now. You are too hasty, sir, she cried. You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without farther loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honor of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them. I am not now to learn, replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept when he first applies for their favor, and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar air long. Upon my word, sir, cried Elizabeth, your hope is rather an extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies. If such young ladies there are, who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time, I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect, it will qualify for the situation. Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so, said Mr. Collins very gravely, but I cannot imagine that her ladieship would at all disapprove of you, and you may be certain that when I have the honor of seeing her again, I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualifications. Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must give me my leave to judge for myself and pay me the compliment of believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand to all in my power to prevent you being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of long-born estate whenever it falls without any self-approach. This matter may be considered therefore as finally settled, and rising as she thus spoke, she would have quitted the room, had not Mr. Collins thus addressed her. When I do myself the honor of speaking to you next on this subject, I shall hope to receive a more favorable answer than you have now given me, though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit, as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character. Really, Mr. Collins, cried Elizabeth with some warmth. You puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its being one. You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my address is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these. It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of Deburg and my relationship to your own are circumstances highly in my favor, and you should take it into farther consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you. Your portion is unhappily so small that will an all-likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense according to the usual practice of elegant females. I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretension whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honor you have done me in your proposals, but to accept him is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart. You are uniformly charming, cried he, with an air of awkward gallantry, and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable. To such perseverance and willful self-deception, Elizabeth would make no reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew, determined if he persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flattering encouragement to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered in such a manner as must be decisive, and whose behavior at least could not be mistaken for the affection and coquettetry of an elegant female. You are the only one who is not worthy of being a true man, and you are the only one who is worthy of being a true man, and you are the only one who is worthy of being a true man, and you are the only one who is worthy of being a true man, and you are the only one who is worthy of being a true man, and you are the only one who is worthy of being a true man, and you are the only one who is worthy of being a true man,