He increased his pace, though unfortunately one cannot outwalk one's own conduct.
The path climbed steadily above the town. Somewhere below him lay the sea, though the mist concealed it completely. The world seemed reduced to a few yards of damp earth and pale air, which suited his mood tolerably well. He had spent most of his life believing himself a rational man. Rational men did not repeatedly kiss women who had not accepted their proposals. Rational men certainly did not seek them out at midnight. Rational men, having been refused, generally retired with dignity and attempted to preserve what remained of their self-respect. Yet every sensible instinct he possessed appeared to desert him entirely in Elizabeth Bennet's company.
The most aggravating aspect of the situation was that she had not refused him because she disliked him. She had done so because he had behaved badly and spoken of her as if she were a brood-mare.
By the time he descended again towards the town the mist had begun to thin. Shopkeepers were opening shutters. A cart laden with fish barrels rattled towards the harbour. A pair of children were attempting to persuade a reluctant dog to accompany them somewhere it clearly had no desire to go. Ordinary life continued with remarkable indifference to personal catastrophe.
He found Bingley in the square.
This was not surprising. Bingley possessed a peculiar gift for appearing wherever other people happened to be. Left alone in an unfamiliar town, he would somehow acquire three acquaintances and a favourite baker before luncheon.
"Darcy!" he exclaimed, waving cheerfully despite standing no more than twenty feet away. "Excellent. I had hoped I might encounter you."
"Had you?"
"Yes, although I had not settled upon what I intended to do once I succeeded. Still, it seemed a worthwhile objective."
They fell into step together. For some time Bingley respected the silence. He admired the market stalls, greeted two strangers with complete sincerity and devoted himself with visible effort to not asking whatever question was occupying his thoughts. Darcy, who knew him very well indeed, watched this strugglewith detached interest. It was rather like observing a man attempting not to sneeze.
Eventually curiosity prevailed.
"I do not wish to pry," said Bingley, in precisely the tone of a man preparing to pry, "and indeed I have spent the last quarter of an hour congratulating myself on my restraint. Nevertheless, I cannot help observing that you look rather like a man who has either misplaced a fortune or been crossed in love."
Darcy glanced at him.
"The latter."
Bingley stopped walking so abruptly that an elderly woman carrying a basket was obliged to step around him.
"You and Miss Elizabeth?"
"I proposed in the most foolish way imaginable."
"To Miss Elizabeth?"
"Unless there is another lady in Lyme with whom I have somehow become unexpectedly involved."
Bingley resumed walking. "And she refused?"
"She did."
For several moments he said nothing, which was sufficiently remarkable to deserve notice. Charles Bingley was not a silent man by nature. His thoughts generally travelled from his mindto his mouth by the most direct route available. Yet he continued beside Darcy for almost half a minute without speaking.
"Good God," he said at last.
"Yes."
"No, I mean it. Good God."
Darcy might have smiled under different circumstances.
Bingley cast him a sidelong glance. "That is not all of it."
"It is."
"It is plainly not."
"It is the essential part."
