Pride and Prejudice / Гордость и предубеждение. Джейн Остин

observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time with: “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some sort of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

      He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

      “Very well. Perhaps by and by[92] I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent.”

      “Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?” “Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know.

      It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”

      “Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”

      “Both,” replied Elizabeth playfully; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, reserved disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to future like a proverb.”

      “This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” said he. “How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.”

      “I must not decide on my own performance.”

      He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

      The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said, “Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends – whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.”

      “He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,” replied Elizabeth with emphasis, “and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”

      Darcy made no answer, and seemed eager to change the subject. At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on seeing Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

      “Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Eliza (glancing at her sister and Bingley) will take place. What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy: but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also reproaching me.”

      The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however, shortly, he turned to his partner, and said, “Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of.”

      “I do not think we were speaking at all. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

      “What do you think of books?” said he, smiling.

      “Books – oh! No. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.”

      “I am sorry you think so; but if that is the case, we may compare our different opinions.”

      “No – I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.”

      “Thepresent always occupies you in such scenes – does it?” said he, with a look of doubt.

      “Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, “I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created.”

      “I am,” said he, with a firm voice.

      “And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”

      “I hope not.”

      “It is particularly important for those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.”

      “May I ask to what these questions tend?”

      “Merely to the illustration of your character,” said she, “I am trying to make it out.”

      “And what is your success?”

      She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”

      “I can readily believe,” answered he gravely, “that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit[93] on either.”

      “But if I do not make your portrait now, I may never have another opportunity.”

      “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” he coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon[94].

      They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and said:

      “So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham! Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions; and I find that the young man quite forgot to tell you that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has always been remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame. He cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned. Though my brother thought that he could not well avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country at all is a most impudent thing, indeed. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite's guilt; but really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better.”

      “His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same,” said Elizabeth angrily; “for I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's steward, and of that, I can assure you, he informed me himself.”

      “I beg your pardon,” replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a sneer. “Excuse my interference – it was kindly meant.”

      Elizabeth then sought her eldest sister, who has undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the events of the evening.

      “I want to know,” said Elizabeth, with a smile, “what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham.”

      “I have nothing satisfactory to tell you,” replied Jane. “Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances

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