Relief, though restrained, was no longer to be mistaken, and Darcy, mastering himself with effort, inclined his head with a sincerity which did him more credit than any studied expression.
“You have relieved me, sir, in a manner for which I am greatly obliged,” he said, choosing his words with care, though unable entirely to conceal their force. “The report was such as I could neither credit nor dismiss without being assured of its truth.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Mr. Bennet replied, with a dry composure that only half concealed his amusement, his eyes resting upon Darcy with a keenness that seemed to take quiet account of every change in his manner. “Though I cannot but be curious what interpretation you had already placed upon the supposed event, that its contradiction should afford you so sensible a relief.”
A brief pause followed, in which Darcy appeared to consider how far he might properly answer, before replying with guarded precision.
“I had reason to believe that such a connexion would not be consistent with my understanding of Miss Bennet’s character,” he said at last, with measured calm, though the effort of restraint was still perceptible.
“Then we are entirely of one mind,” Mr. Bennet concluded with quiet satisfaction, “for though Mr. Collins is a gentleman of very commendable perseverance, I should not wish to see it rewarded in that particular direction.”
Silence followed for a moment, not uncomfortable, yet not without meaning, as each seemed aware that something more had passed between them than had been spoken.
“Since you have taken the trouble to come so far for the sake of information,” Mr. Bennet continued, resuming a tone of easy civility, “you must allow me at least to offer you some refreshment before you return, unless Rosings exerts so strong a claim upon your time that you must depart as abruptly as you arrived.”
“I am much obliged to you, sir,” Darcy answered, “but I believe I must return without delay, as there are circumstances which require my immediate attention, and which I should not willingly postpone.”
“That I can readily believe,” said Mr. Bennet, rising, and regarding him with a look in which curiosity and quiet approval were not entirely absent. “Only permit me to observe, as a general rule, that reports, however confidently delivered, are not always deserving of equal confidence in return—though I must confess, in this instance, the gentleman who sought correction seems rather more affected than the report itself.”
A faint smile, brief and controlled, touched Darcy’s expression.
“Your observation is just, sir, and I shall endeavour to profit by it,” he replied, before taking his leave with a bow that, though formal, was not without warmth.
Left alone, Mr. Bennet resumed his seat with evident composure, yet his countenance retained a look of thoughtful amusement, as though he had witnessed something not merely curious, but instructive, and which, in its consequences, might prove of more importance than its immediate appearancesuggested. He resolved, not without a certain quiet satisfaction, to acquaint Elizabeth with the particulars over breakfast the following morning.
CHAPTER8
The breakfast at the inn was laid with more attention to comfort than display, yet the quiet order of the room, joined to the softened light of a morning newly cleared of rain, produced an ease of spirits which neither Mr. Bennet nor his daughter was disposed to resist, though the events of the preceding evening had left impressions not so readily dismissed, and which, in Elizabeth’s case, returned with a persistence she could neither wholly justify nor entirely set aside.
They had not long been seated when her father, who had thus far occupied himself with the ordinary business of tea and toast in a manner apparently free from design, cast upon her a glance at once light and attentive, as though the moment for observation had passed, and that for remark might now be chosen without impropriety.
“We must not indulge ourselves too long, Lizzy,” he began, with an ease that scarcely concealed intention, “for it has been agreed, I believe, that we are to return to Rosings this morning, in order to take our leave of her ladyship with all due civility, after which the carriage is to convey our indefatigable cousin to Hunsford, where he may begin, with proper solemnity, to contemplate the duties and advantages of that establishment which he had so confidently hoped for, and which has now been refused him.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, though her attention, which had rested outwardly upon the simple arrangements of thetable, seemed already drawn elsewhere by the quiet seriousness beneath his tone.
“And from thence,” he continued, with a faint turn of humour, “we shall proceed toward London, provided the roads do not oppose us more than usual, and, by setting out at a reasonable hour after luncheon, may hope to arrive by evening with no greater inconvenience than is customary in such undertakings. And, of course, we shall visit the Gardiners, and leave Mr. Collins to his reflections.”
“It will be well to be upon the road again,” Elizabeth replied, her composure entire, though not untouched by reflection, “for though our stay has not been without interest, I think we may both allow that its conclusion is not ill-timed.”
“That, my dear Lizzy, is a conclusion in which I most readily concur,” returned her father, “though I cannot pretend that the whole of our visit has been without instruction, however little we may have solicited it.”
A brief pause followed, in which Elizabeth, though silent, grew more attentive, as one who perceives the approach of something not yet declared, but already of consequence.
“There was, however,” he resumed, setting aside his cup with unstudied precision, “one circumstance of last evening which I find myself unwilling to pass over entirely, though I shall not insist upon its importance, unless you should prove disposed to examine it with me.”
Elizabeth looked up at once, her curiosity awakened, though she endeavoured to preserve an appearance of calm.
“You refer, Papa—” she began, with a steadiness that did not wholly conceal her interest, “to Mr. Darcy?”
“I do refer to that gentleman, indeed,” Mr. Bennet replied, regarding her with composed attention, “who waited upon me here last evening, having quitted Rosings in weather sufficient to excuse any man from stirring abroad, and who did so with a promptitude which, I confess, appeared somewhat at variance with his usual habits.”
Elizabeth felt, without clearly knowing why, a slight quickening of her thoughts, as though something in the recollection resisted indifference.
“He did not seem a man at leisure,” her father continued, “nor one disposed to hazard such a journey for the mere pleasure of discourse, for his manner, though perfectly civil, admitted neither delay nor digression, and was marked throughout by a directness which I thought unusual in him.”
Elizabeth set down her cup with greater care than was necessary, her attention now fully engaged.
“What was it that Mr. Darcy wished to know, Papa?” she asked, her voice quieter, though perfectly composed.
