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“The rumours are that he has £10,000 a year. Such an amount buys a lot of forbearance. No gentleman here will snub him for his actions this evening.”

It was later in the evening that events took a turn for the worse. Mr. Darcy danced only twice, first with Mrs. Hurst and then with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, barely speaking to any of his own party. Mary had not danced with any gentleman, not through lack of offers but a natural reluctance to being at the centre of things. If her mother would have allowed it she would have stayed home. Wishful thinking.

Mary had been sitting in the same place all evening, she had made no effort to approach anyone, never mind the members of the Netherfield Park party. But Darcy had been moving around the room and was standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.

"Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room."

Darcy was looking at Kitty Bennet, abandoned on the floor waiting for Mr. Bingley to return.

"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Who do you mean?"

Darcy looked Mary straight in the eye before turning back to Bingley.

"She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

Bingley skulked away and Darcy headed round the outside of the room to the refreshment table. Mary sat there in stunned silence. Never had she felt so plain or pathetic. It took all her self-control to hold back the tears. However, she told no one of the vicious slight.

But that night before she retired to her bed, Mary Bennet composed an express to be sent to her sister Elizabeth first thing in the morning. It was a baring of her soul, and several tears fell and stained the letter. Once it was complete Mary passed out, emotionally shattered from the evening.