Darcy received this without resentment.
“Our acquaintance may be slight, Miss Bennet,” he replied, “but it has not, I think, been without consequence to either of us. I have not been accustomed to meet with opinions so readily formed, nor so resolutely maintained.”
Elizabeth could not forbear smiling.
“You must allow, then, that I have at least the merit of consistency.”
“Of spirit,” he corrected, with a steadiness that gave the word more weight than she had expected. “And of independence of mind—qualities which, though they may occasionally lead to error, are not easily mistaken in their value.”
There was something in the manner of this praise which prevented her from treating it lightly. It was not the flattery she had been accustomed to receive, nor did it appear to be offered with any expectation of pleasing. She felt, instead, that it had been given because it was thought deserved—and the distinction was not without its effect.
“You are inclined to judge more favourably than I had supposed, Mr. Darcy,” she said, after a moment, in a tone less playful than before. “I must hope that your opinion is not formed upon too slight an acquaintance, or I shall be under the disagreeable necessity of disappointing it again.”
“I do not think I shall find you easily mistaken in what is essential,” Darcy replied; and though his manner remained composed, there was in his look a seriousness which Elizabeth could not immediately account for.
At this moment, the path broadened once more, and the sound of Mr. Collins’s voice—raised in earnest admiration of some medicinal property of Bath waters—announced the near approach of the rest of the party. The spell of their partial seclusion was thus gently broken, and both were sensible, though neither cared to admit that the interruption was welcome.
Elizabeth’s spirits, which had been more engaged than she would readily confess, resumed something of their usual lightness.
“We are not, it seems, to be allowed the indulgence of uninterrupted reflection,” she said, with a smile that sought to recover its earlier ease.
“No,” Mr. Darcy returned, with a gravity that was not without its share of amusement, “though I cannot regret that we have had even so much of it as we have.”
She did not answer; but as they turned to rejoin the others, her thoughts were less at liberty than before, and her composure—though outwardly unaltered—was no longer entirely her own.
***
Upon their return from the park, a footman, acting upon Lady Catherine’s instructions, conducted the company to the smaller drawing-room, where the late-afternoon light fell softly through the tall windows, rendering the grandeur of Rosings less oppressive than before. Tea had already been set out, and though it was taken with propriety, it was not attended by much conversation; for the events of the day still lingered, in a thoughtful quiet which disposed each to reflection rather than display.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh entered shortly thereafter. Her manner, though still marked by habitual authority, bore traces of a resolution newly formed, and perhaps not entirely without effort. She paused just within the room, her glance passing from one face to another—not in scrutiny alone, but in a kind of deliberate acknowledgment—before advancing further.
“The occurrences of this morning,” she began, with a steadiness that admitted neither haste nor evasion, “have rendered certain explanations proper. I do not, in general, find it necessary to account for my decisions; yet, as others have been affected by them, I shall not decline the obligation.”
Mr. Collins, who had been standing in a posture of respectful anticipation, started slightly at this preface, and bowed with a mixture of alarm and hope; his countenance, however, soon brightened, as though he already anticipated a favourable turn.
Lady Catherine turned toward him.
“Mr. Collins, I am aware that my earlier intentions regarding the living of Hunsford may have occasioned you some uncertainty and discomfort. Circumstances have since intervened which admit of no delay or reconsideration, and I have therefore found it necessary to alter my design.”
Mr. Collins bowed again, lower than before, his hands clasping and unclasping with nervous eagerness. “Your ladyship’s discernment,” he said, “must ever direct the propriety of such arrangements; and I should be most unwilling to suppose that any disappointment of my own could weigh against considerations so justly superior.”
Lady Catherine inclined her head, receiving this as her due, yet with less impatience than might formerly have attended such a speech.
“It is not my practice,” she continued, “to leave those who have been honoured by my notice in a state of disadvantage. Your situation, Mr. Collins, shall therefore be otherwise provided for.”
At this moment, Mr. Darcy, who had hitherto remained silent, spoke with quiet firmness.
“My aunt will permit me to observe that Mr. Collins has already been offered the living of Kympton, within my own patronage. I believe the arrangement may be concluded with advantage to all parties, and in a situation well suited to his future comfort and respectability.”
“Kympton,” Lady Catherine repeated, as if weighing the word. “A respectable living, and properly situated. The neighbourhood is not without consequence, I may add. If Mr. Collins is satisfied—”
“Entirely, your ladyship!” Mr. Collins interposed, his spirits now so elevated that his eagerness could scarcely be contained. “To be favoured by the patronage of Mr. Darcy is a distinction I had not presumed to anticipate, and one I shall endeavour to deserve with every exertion of my duty!”
“As for Hunsford,” Lady Catherine resumed, her tone settling into one of composed decision, “it is my intention that the living be conferred upon a gentleman already known to me—a married man, with children, and long distinguished by the propriety of his conduct and the regular discharge of his duties. Stability is not to be risked where it may be secured; and in such cases, connection must properly recommend itself to confidence.”
Mr. Bennet, who had been observing the scene with quiet attention, inclined his head.
“It is always a fortunate circumstance,” he said, “when judgment and inclination are permitted to meet upon equal terms.”
