THE DISCOMFITURE OF SPIRITS which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she, after burying the ninjas, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine, it appeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings, for the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr. Darcy. But from what the report of their engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine; till she recollected that his being the intimate friend of Bingley, and her being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when the expectation of one wedding made everybody eager for another, to supply the idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her sister must bring them more frequently together.
However, she could not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her duel with Lady Catherine. From what she had said of her resolution to prevent their marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she would relate the whole of their battle to her nephew; and how he might be swayed by her reasoning, and a natural admiration for his aunt.
If he had been wavering before as to what he should do, which had often seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy as dignity unblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady Catherine might see him in her way through town; and the sight of his aunt so freshly bloodied might provoke any number of feelings-not the least of which was resentment for the one who bore responsibility for the injuries.
The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had been, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied it, with the same kind of supposition which had appeased Mrs. Bennet’s curiosity; and Elizabeth was spared from much teasing on the subject.
The next morning, as she was going downstairs, she was met by her father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.
“Lizzy,” said he, “I was going to look for you; come into my room.”
She followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he had to tell her was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner connected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it might be from Lady Catherine; and she anticipated with dismay all the consequent explanations.
She followed her father to the fire place, and they both sat down. He then said:
“I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its contents. I did not know before, that I had two daughters on the brink of matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.”
The colour now rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks in the instantaneous conviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt; and she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to herself; when her father continued:
“You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters as these; but I think I may defy even your sagacity, to discover the name of your admirer. This letter is from a Colonel Fitzwilliam-a man who, before receipt of this letter, I had never heard of in all my life.”
“From Colonel Fitzwilliam! And what can he have to say?”
“Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins with congratulations on Jane’s approaching nuptials, of which, it seems, he has been told by some good natured gentleman. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading what he says on that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows:
Having thus offered you the sincere congratulations on this happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of another; of which I have been advertised by the same authority. Your daughter Elizabeth, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of Bennet, after her elder sister has resigned it, and the chosen partner of her fate may be reasonably looked up to as one of the most illustrious personages in this land.
“Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this?”
This young gentleman is blessed, in a peculiar way, with every thing the heart of mortal can most desire-splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn you of what evils you may incur by a precipitate closure with this gentleman’s proposals, which, of course, you will be inclined to take immediate advantage of.
“Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it comes out:”
My motive for cautioning you is as follows. We have reason to imagine that his aunt and mine, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the match with a friendly eye.
“Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I have surprised you. Could he have pitched on any man within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in his life! Imagine such a thing!”
Elizabeth tried to join in her father’s pleasantry, but could only force one most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so little agreeable to her.
“Are you not surprised?”
“Oh! Yes. Pray read on.”
After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her last night, she immediately expressed what she felt on the occasion; when it became apparent, that on the score of some family objections on the part of your daughter, she would never give her consent to what she termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my duty to give the speediest intelligence of this to you, that Elizabeth and her noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not run hastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned.
“The rest of his letter is only about his sorrow upon hearing of Charlotte’s beheading and Mr. Collins’s suicide. But, Lizzy, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not, I hope, pretending to be affronted at an idle report.”
“Oh!” cried Elizabeth, “I am excessively amused. But it is so strange!”
“Yes-that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man it would have been nothing; but his perfect indifference, and your pointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?”
To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh; and as it had been asked without the least suspicion. Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her, by what he said of Mr. Darcy’s indifference, and she could do nothing but wonder at such a want of perception, or fear that perhaps, instead of his seeing too little, she might have fancied too much.