The smaller parlour to which the ladies retired possessed none of the state of the principal drawing-room, yet for that very reason appeared more habitable. The fire, no longer ornamental alone, diffused a warmth which softened the formality still lingering from dinner; and the candles, fewer and less ceremoniously disposed, gave the room an air better suited to conversation than display.
Lady Catherine seated herself with the composed authority of one entirely accustomed to preside wherever she entered; yet there was in her manner less vigilance than earlier in the day. The principal matters having been settled to her satisfaction, she seemed willing—for the present—to permit tranquillity to maintain its proper course.
Anne de Bourgh occupied a place near the fire, where the light fell more gently across her countenance than it had in the dining-room. Freed from the immediate observation imposed by the table, she appeared less reserved; and though she spoke little at first, it no longer seemed entirely the effect of timidity.
For some minutes the conversation proceeded upon indifferent subjects. The lateness of the season, the roads through Kent, and the management of winter households were discussed with that species of composed regularity by which well-bred women often recover the ease interrupted by a difficult day.
Elizabeth, though she answered whenever addressed, found herself more attentive than talkative; for there was something in the altered temper of the evening which invited observation almost as much as participation.
At length Lady Catherine turned toward her.
“You do not appear fatigued, Miss Bennet,” she observed. “Many young ladies, after such exertions and agitation, would scarcely be capable of rational conversation.”
“I believe, madam, that occupation is often less exhausting than suspense,” Elizabeth replied. “One bears activity more easily than uncertainty.”
Lady Catherine regarded her with steady consideration.
“There is truth in that,” she said after a pause. “Indecision is among the most useless of weaknesses.”
Elizabeth could not entirely determine whether the remark arose from general principle or particular reflection; but Anne, who had lifted her eyes at her mother’s words, appeared to understand more of their application than she chose openly to express.
“I have sometimes thought,” Anne said quietly, after a short silence, “that uncertainty becomes more difficult when too many people attempt to decide on one’s behalf.”
The observation, though gently spoken, produced a stillness more thoughtful than awkward. Lady Catherine’s expression altered almost imperceptibly; not into displeasure precisely, but into the attentive composure of one unaccustomed to hearing certain truths approached too nearly.
“My dear Anne,” she returned with controlled calmness, “those best qualified to judge are naturally expected to advise.”
“Yes, Mama,” Anne replied with equal composure. “Though advice is perhaps easiest to follow when it resembles one’s own wishes.”
Elizabeth, surprised equally by the remark and by the manner in which it had been delivered, turned toward Miss de Bourghwith renewed attention. There was no bitterness in Anne’s tone, nor any appearance of defiance; only a degree of quiet self-possession which seemed, until now, to have remained carefully concealed beneath habitual reserve.
Lady Catherine, perhaps perceiving that further discussion might lend unnecessary consequence to the subject, permitted it to subside without further contradiction.
“The world places too much value upon inclination,” she declared after a moment. “Young people are rarely competent judges of their own happiness, my dear.”
“Yet they are expected to live with its consequences,” Elizabeth answered before prudence had entirely recommended silence.
The words escaped with more seriousness than liveliness; and for an instant she almost regretted them. Lady Catherine, however, instead of taking immediate offence, merely studied her with renewed scrutiny.
“You speak very decidedly for so young a person, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth received the observation with respectful steadiness.
“I have observed, madam, that certainty is not always proportioned to age.”
Miss de Bourgh lowered her gaze, though not before Elizabeth detected once more the faint appearance of restrained amusement; and even Lady Catherine herself seemed, for the briefest instant, not entirely disinclined to smile.
Lady Catherine turned then to her daughter.
“Anne,” she said, with a moderation unusual in her address, “I ought to inform you that I have already written, earlier this afternoon, to Mrs. Fortescue of Sussex, inviting her and her son to visit Rosings in the course of the next week. It is my wish that you should see him under circumstances which may allow your own judgement to be exercised.”
Obviously surprised by such an unexpected decision, Anne met her mother’s gaze with a composure that, though still quiet, was no longer merely habitual. There was in her manner a steadiness which suggested that the prospect, however uncertain, was not unwelcome.
“I shall make every effort to welcome them as you suggest, ma’am,” Anne replied, her expression tranquil, while the faintest brightness softened her eyes with an animation rarely visible in her countenance.
“Not merely as I think proper,” Lady Catherine returned, after a slight pause, her tone less peremptory than deliberate, “but as you yourself may find proper, my dear. It is not my intention that you should be guided entirely by considerations not your own.”
This concession, slight as it was, did not pass unnoticed.
