Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.
Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could
you begin?" said she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when
you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first
place?"

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which
laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I
knew that I _had_ begun."

"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners--my behaviour
to _you_ was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke
to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere;
did you admire me for my impertinence?"

"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."

"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.
The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious
attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking
and looking, and thinking for _your_ approbation alone. I roused, and
interested you, because I was so unlike _them_. Had you not been really
amiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you
took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and
in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously
courted you. There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it;
and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly
reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks
of _that_ when they fall in love."

"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was
ill at Netherfield?"

"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it
by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are
to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me
to find occasions for teazing and quarrelling with you as often as may
be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling
to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first
called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did
you look as if you did not care about me?"

"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."

"But I was embarrassed."

"And so was I."

"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."

"A man who had felt less, might."

"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that
I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you
_would_ have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when
you _would_ have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of
thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. _Too
much_, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort
springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the
subject? This will never do."

"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady
Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us, were the means of
removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to
your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to
wait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me
hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing."

"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy,
for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to
Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed?
or had you intended any more serious consequence?"

"My real purpose was to see _you_, and to judge, if I could, whether I
might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to
myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley,
and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made."

"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to
befall her?"

"I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to
be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done
directly."

"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and
admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But
I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected."

From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy
had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner's
long letter, but now, having _that_ to communicate which she knew would
be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find, that her uncle and aunt
had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as
follows:

"I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have
done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but
to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than
really existed. But _now_ suppose as much as you chuse; give a
loose to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible
flight which the subject will afford, and unless you believe me
actually married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very
soon, and praise him a great deal more than you did in your last. I
thank you, again and again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I
be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful.
We will go round the Park every day. I am the happiest creature in
the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one
with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I
laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world, that he can
spare from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas.

Your's, &c."

Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine, was in a different style; and
still different from either, was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in
reply to his last.

"DEAR SIR,

"I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will
soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as
you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has
more to give.

"Your's sincerely, &c."

Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his approaching
marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even
to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her
former professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was
affected; and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing
her a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved.

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information, was
as sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper were
insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of
being loved by her sister.

Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations
to Elizabeth, from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the
Collinses were come themselves to Lucas lodge. The reason of this sudden
removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so
exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew's letter, that
Charlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till
the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend
was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their
meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she
saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her
husband. He bore it however with admirable calmness. He could even
listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away
the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all
meeting frequently at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did
shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Philips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater tax on his
forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as her sister, stood in
too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's good
humour encouraged, yet, whenever she _did_ speak, she must be vulgar.
Nor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all
likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could, to shield
him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him
to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse
without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising
from all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it
added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with delight to
the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to
either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at
Pemberley.