Mr. Collins smiled with solemn gratitude at this restoration of the conversation to harmless forms, and began almost immediately to enlarge upon the peculiar difficulties of extempore devotion under the inspection of rank; but Elizabeth heard little of what followed. She was conscious only that Mr. Darcy remained, that his manner to her had neither the hauteur of Meryton nor the mere civility of Rosings, and that whatever had passed in the morning, and whatever connection it might bear to Mr. Wickham, was not a matter upon which he seemed disposed to relieve her uncertainty.
“We came, in fact, to attend Mr. Collins, to whom the living had been promised,” Mr. Bennet said. “We were not less surprised than yourself, sir, to find another in possession of it. I daresay my cousin was imprudent enough to inform his former acquaintance, Mr. Wickham, too early of his expected advancement here; and that gentleman, being of a more active turn, came provided with stronger recommendations, and so forestalled him.”
Darcy’s colour changed, though his manner did not.
“You state the case correctly, sir,” Mr. Darcy said. “It was my neglect. I recommended Mr. Wickham, and furnished him with letters in his favour, too early and with too much confidence. They were intended to assist him to a living in Shrewsbury, in Shropshire; not for this situation. He chose instead to employ them here, and, to your disadvantage, Mr. Collins, a circumstance I neither foresaw nor can approve.”
Darcy turned directly to Mr. Collins.
“Such a use of my support does him no credit, and I cannot but regret that my confidence should have been made the means of your disappointment. You have, in this instance, been unfairly treated,” Mr. Darcy said.
Mr. Collins bowed, at once gratified and discomposed.
“Sir, you are very condescending—very just—most properly sensible of the claims of—of prior expectation; though I would by no means presume—” Mr. Collins said, bowing his head gratefully.
“You will allow me to proceed,” Mr. Darcy said, with a steadiness which, though perfectly civil, admitted no interruption. “The circumstance cannot be undone; but it may, in part, be repaired. The living at Kympton, in my gift, will shortly be vacant. If it be agreeable to you, I shall be happy to present you to it.”
Mr. Collins started, and for a moment seemed at a loss whether gratitude or astonishment should have the precedence, his features arranging themselves with visible effort into an expression suited to both.
“Kympton, sir!—in your gift!—I am infinitely obliged—most sensibly honoured—such condescension—such generosity—” Mr. Collins began, his words pressing one upon another with an eagerness which outran his composure.
“Pray, no expressions beyond what the occasion requires,” Mr. Darcy said more gently. “I am only doing what is proper. You may wait upon me at No. 7, St James’s Street, at any time before the end of the month, when I shall be at leisure to enter more particularly into the subject, and to learn your final determination.”
Mr. Bennet observed the whole with an attention neither careless nor unamused, his countenance betraying, now and then, a degree of quiet diversion which he made no effort to conceal.
“You will find, sir, that my cousin is not difficult to oblige, where preferment is concerned; and I shall hope that Kympton, when it comes, may prove less hazardous to his expectations than Hunsford has done,” Mr. Bennet said.
Elizabeth had listened in a degree of surprise she did not attempt to conceal, and found that whatever curiosity she had felt respecting the morning’s occurrences was rather increased than satisfied; for though much had been explained, something in Mr. Darcy’s manner convinced her that all was not yet told.
When at length he rose, it was with no appearance of wishing to terminate the interview sooner than necessity required.
“I fear I have already interrupted your afternoon too long,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Not at all, sir,” Mr. Collins protested. “The honour—”
But Mr. Bennet, standing also, contented himself with saying, “You have given it variety, which is more than can be promised by every visitor.”
Mr. Darcy bowed. His eyes turned once more to Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet, I hope your stay in Hunsford may yet improve upon its beginning.”
“You are very kind, sir. I believe it has already proved more memorable than we expected.”
No more was said; yet she had the distinct impression, as he withdrew across the yard and mounted again, that the meeting, accidental as it had seemed, would not easily pass from either memory.
Mr. Bennet resumed his seat.
“Well, Lizzy,” said he, taking up the decanter once more, “if Hunsford improves on acquaintance, I begin to think some of its visitors do also.”
Elizabeth tried to laugh, and almost succeeded; but her thoughts, far from settling, were only the more engaged. For if Mr. Darcy had once been merely disagreeable, he was so no longer; and if he was not yet intelligible, that uncertainty had already become more interesting than she could have wished.
CHAPTER6
The rain persisted against the tall windows of the library at Rosings, its steady and unbroken rhythm lending an oppressive stillness to the room, as though the world beyond had withdrawn from notice and left the house to its own uneasy quiet. Anne de Bourgh remained standing near the shelves without attending to them, while Fitzwilliam Darcy moved slowly across the carpet, his composure preserved in form, though not without visible effort.
“Anne, I must understand what has altered here since my last visit, for your summons was unexpected, and your manner convinces me that something more than ordinary inconvenience has disturbed the order of this house.”
“Oh, Cousin Fitzwilliam, I would not have called you without sufficient cause, yet I find it difficult to begin, for what I have observed is not a single occurrence, but a succession of changes, each slight when taken alone, yet together forming something wholly unlike the order to which I have always been accustomed here.”
