Mr. Bennet allowed himself the smallest pause, as though the simplicity of the answer did not preclude its consequence.
“The gentleman wished to be informed,” he said at last, “whether you were engaged to Mr. Collins.”
The effect, though slight in appearance, was by no means insignificant. Elizabeth did not start, yet a stillness came over her which betrayed that the words had not passed without impression, and though she spoke at once, it was with an effort she could not wholly disguise.
“Engaged—to my cousin?” she repeated, with composed incredulity. “I cannot conceive by what means such a report could have arisen.”
“Nor I,” returned her father, with dry composure, “though it was delivered with a confidence which might have imposed upon any man less advantageously informed than myself, who, by some happy circumstance, retains a tolerable knowledge of his daughter’s affairs. You should have seen in what condition he came—his clothes quite drenched, and the rain still falling from the hat he held.”
A faint smile rose to Elizabeth’s lips, though it did not wholly banish the thoughtful gravity that had succeeded her first surprise.
“And what answer did you give him?” she asked, her eyes now fixed upon him with a steadiness that admitted no disguise.
“That which truth required, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet replied, “and which, I imagine, was received with more satisfaction than he found it prudent to express, for I had scarcely denied the report before I perceived in him a change which, though perfectly governed, was sufficiently marked to be understood even by a less attentive observer.”
Elizabeth’s breath, though measured, seemed for a moment restrained.
“He was, in short, relieved,” her father added with quiet certainty.
She turned slightly aside, as though to command her thoughts, yet the impression remained, resisting immediate dismissal.
“It was natural, perhaps,” Elizabeth said, after a pause, “that he should wish to correct an error which concerned his acquaintance, and which, if believed, might have led to awkward consequences.”
“Perhaps so,” Mr. Bennet returned, without disputing her, though his expression retained a thoughtful composure, “and yet I have observed, my dear Lizzy, that gentlemen do not commonly expose themselves to rain, inconvenience, and evident haste, for the sole purpose of correcting an error which touches them but lightly.”
Elizabeth felt the truth of this, though she resisted its full extent.
“You think, then, that he was more concerned than the occasion required, Papa?” she asked, her voice lower, though steady.
“I think,” Mr. Bennet said with quiet deliberation, “that he was not indifferent; and as indifference is the easiest of all conditions to preserve, its absence, in such a case, deserves at least to be remembered.”
Elizabeth made no immediate reply, for though her understanding supplied one answer, her feelings inclined toward another, and she was not yet prepared to unite them.
“Your mother,” her father continued, with the faintest smile, “would, I have no doubt, have drawn from such a visit conclusions of a far more decisive nature, and proclaimed them with a spirit that would leave us little room for doubt; but as I am less expeditious in forming judgments, I am content to observe, and wait.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved in spite of herself, though her eyes retained a thoughtful softness which had not been there before.
“You are very cautious, Papa,” she said gently.
“Only so far as prudence recommends, Lizzy,” he replied, rising with composed ease, as though the matter, for the present, had been sufficiently considered. “For the rest, I am satisfied that what is worth knowing will, in time, make itself known without our assistance, and that what is worth feeling will not be diminished by being felt a little more slowly.”
Elizabeth rose likewise, her composure restored, though her mind remained engaged in a manner she could neither wholly welcome nor entirely resist.
“Come, my dear,” he added, offering his arm, “we must not keep Lady Catherine waiting, lest she imagine we have formed designs of remaining longer than she has permitted, and thereby give her fresh occasion for displeasure.”
Elizabeth accepted his arm with a calm smile; yet as they prepared to depart, her thoughts returned, not to Rosings, nor to the journey before them, but to a gentleman who had not been indifferent—and to the quiet, unbidden certainty that such concern, once awakened, was not easily dismissed, nor likely to remain without consequence.
At that very moment, Mr. Collins came hurrying down the stairs, eager to join them, and very nearly stumbled in his haste, his want of attention rendering his descent less dignified than he might have wished.
***
They had scarcely alighted at Rosings when the door was opened to them with prompt attention, and the footman, whosemanner combined respect with that habitual composure which long service gives, informed the small group from the inn that her ladyship, together with Mr. Wickham, had quitted the house not long before in order to proceed to Hunsford, leaving express word that Mr. Collins, upon his arrival, was to follow without delay, as his presence there was considered necessary.
This intelligence had no sooner been delivered than Miss de Bourgh herself appeared, having observed their arrival from the window, and, advancing with a degree of animation not often seen in her, received them with a civility which, though restrained by habit, was made more agreeable by an evident desire to please; while Mrs. Younge, who followed at a small distance, adhered to her with so constant an attendance that it seemed less the office of a companion than the vigilance of a keeper, and could not fail to be remarked in a house otherwise so correctly ordered.
After the first compliments had passed, Miss de Bourgh turned, with quiet firmness, toward Mrs. Younge, and desired that refreshments be prepared, adding, in a tone perfectly gentle yet not to be mistaken, that they were to be brought without delay to the parlour; and Mrs. Younge, though she submitted with outward propriety, did so with a reluctance imperfectly concealed, before withdrawing, and leaving Miss de Bourgh, for a brief interval, mistress of her own hospitality and visibly pleased to be so.
Mr. Collins, however, was wholly occupied by the commands of his ephemeral patroness, and stepped forward with an earnestness which betrayed equal parts zeal and apprehension.
