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The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued to mend slowly. In the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. The card-table did not appear.
Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley sat near him, attentively watching the progress of his letter. She repeatedly called out messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.
Elizabeth took up some needlework and was amused by what passed between Darcy and his companion.
Perpetual commendations by the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter. The perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue and was exactly in unison with her opinion of each.
"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"
He made no answer.
"You write uncommonly fast," said Miss Bingley.
"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."
"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!"
"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours."
"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."
"I have already told her so once, by your desire."
"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."
"Thank you—but I always mend my own."
"How can you contrive to write so even?"
He was silent.
"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp. And pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table. I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's."
"Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present, I have not room to do them justice."
At this latest comment, Elizabeth could no longer contain her amusement much as she tried to stifle a small laugh.
"Oh! It is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?"
"They are generally long, but whether always charming it is not for me to determine."
"It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill."
"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline," cried her brother, "because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Is not that true, Darcy?"
"My style of writing is very different from yours."
"Oh!" cried Miss Bingley, "Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest."
"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not the time to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents." He chuckled at his wit.
Elizabeth laughed too. "No one can blame you for your faults, Mr. Bingley, when you express such humility."
Darcy shook his head. "I would not be so convinced by his act of humility, Miss Bennet. Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."
"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?"
"The indirect boast; for you are proud of your defects in writing. You consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which you think highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the swift possessor. But often prized without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet that if you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of public proclamation by which you compliment yourself. I fail to see why rash, impulsive actions should be so praiseworthy. Indeed, if you were to bolt off at a moment's notice, you would leave essential business undone. Such impulsiveness can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?"
"Nay," cried Bingley. He had to object to the destruction of his character. "This is too much. I can not remember at night all the foolish things of no consequence that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believe what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, I did not intend merely to show off before the ladies, whilst I pretended to be impulsive."
"I dare say you believed it, but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such haste. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know. If, say, you were mounting your horse, and a friend was to say, 'Bingley, you had better stay until next week,' you would probably do it. You would probably not go—and at another word, might stay a month."
"You have only proved by this, that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself," Elizabeth observed.
"I am exceedingly gratified by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper," said Bingley. "But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman by no means intended. Darcy would think better of me if I were to give a flat denial and ride off as fast as I could under such a circumstance."
"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?"
"Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for himself."
All in the room returned their attention to Mr. Darcy.
He held out his hands in the motion of a surrender. "You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case to stand according to your representation, Miss Bennet, you must remember that the friend who desires his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it. He asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety."
"To yield readily—easily—to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you?"
"To do as a friend what a friend asks without any conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either."
"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for a friend who requested that you stay longer would often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait till the circumstance occurs before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour. But in general, Mr. Darcy, would you think ill of someone who changes their course of action to follow the desire of a friend without there being a compelling argument first presented?"
"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which relates to this hypothetical request? As well as the degree of intimacy that exists between the parties?"
"By all means." Bingley agreed. "Let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight in the argument than you may be aware of, Miss Bennet. I assure you, that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him as much deference. I declare on particular occasions, and in particular places, I do not know a more awful object than Darcy. Especially at his own house, and on a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do."
Laughing, Bingley obviously meant the comments in good spirits, but Elizabeth guessed there was more than a grain of truth in the jest.
Mr. Darcy smiled, but she perceived he was rather offended, and so she held her laughter in check.
Miss Bingley warmly resented the indignity Darcy received, and she said as such taking issue with her brother for talking such nonsense.
"I see your design, Bingley," said his friend. "You dislike an argument, and want to silence this."
"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful. Then you may say whatever you like of me."
Elizabeth nodded her agreement. "What you ask, is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter."
Mr. Darcy took her advice and finished his letter.
When he had completed it, he requested Miss Bingley and Elizabeth indulgence them with some music. Cheerfully, Miss Bingley moved to the pianoforte. Having reached the stool, she politely asked Elizabeth to join her.
She seated herself when Elizabeth declined.
Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister.
While they were thus employed, Elizabeth turned over some music-books that lay on the instrument. She could not help observing, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes fixed upon her.
She did not know why. She could not suppose she had caught the attention of such a wealthy and noble man. She could not envisage herself as an object of admiration for him.
Yet, his frequent continued gaze could not be the result of his disliking her. That would be still more strange.
Elizabeth concluded there was something about her that was more wrong and reprehensible than in any other person present, according to his ideas of right. It could be the only explanation for his attention. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approval.
After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air.
Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her, "Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"
She smiled but made no answer. He repeated the question, seemingly surprised at her silence.
"Oh!" said she, "I heard you before, but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. I know you wanted me to say 'Yes,' that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste. But I always delight in overthrowing that kind of scheme and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare."
"Indeed, I do not dare." He looked intently at her.
She wondered about the wisdom of her words.
Having somewhat expected to affront him, Elizabeth was amazed at his gallantry.
Could it be possible?
Darcy seemed bewitched by her.
Jealousy showed on the face of Miss Bingley, she saw and must have suspected. She must have wanted Jane's speedy recovery so the household could be rid of Elizabeth.
The next day, Elizabeth joined Mrs. Hurst for a walk.
As they moved amongst the shrubbery, by chance they came across by Mr Darcy and Miss Bingley walking together. Elizabeth overheard just the end of their conversation, about someone's eyes.
"It would not be easy, to catch their expression, indeed. But their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied," Miss Bingley said.
The conversation trailed off as the two couples met. Clearly surprised to come across the other couple Miss Bingley said, "I did not know that you intended to walk."
"You used us abominably ill," answered Mrs. Hurst. "Here you are, running away without telling us that you were coming out."
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth behind to walk by herself. The path just admitted three.
Mr. Darcy immediately stopped this process. "This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue."
But Elizabeth laughed. She had not the least inclination to remain with them. "No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque scene would be spoilt by admitting a fourth person. Good-bye."
She then ran gaily off, disregarding the fact that they may perceive her behaviour as rude. In fact, she had been on the receiving end of rudeness. Rejoicing, she rambled about, in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already so much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that evening.