“Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes,” she replied, “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.”

Again he found himself reflecting that the manner of her address was a refreshing change to that to which he was accustomed.

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

“Both,” replied Miss Bennet, “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds.”

She paused, as his heart warmed to the disclosure that she had given more than a little thought to the subject.

Then she went on to say, slowly, “We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb.”

He was not happy with this response.

“This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say.”

Then, although unaware that he disclosed some irritation at what might be a criticism of himself, he added, “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.

Recalling how she had reached Netherfield when her sister was ill, and where they had last met, Darcy then asked her cautiously if she and her sisters very often walked the mile from Longbourn to Meryton.

“Yes,” she answered and added, “when you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

He was immediately aware to whom she referred— Wickham!—and he was aware that the colour came into his face. But he did not reply immediately.

At length he said, in a constrained manner, “Mr. Wick-ham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.”

Darcy was not prepared for the firm reply, which seemed to be based on more than a limited acquaintance between Wickham and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

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

This reply indicated some measure of intimacy between her and Wickham which concerned Darcy almost beyond reason.

But he made no answer. Indeed, he had none. If he had been feeling more rational, he might have been aware that he was blaming that gentleman for again coming into his life to damage something that mattered to him.

At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared, seeking to pass through the set to the other side of the room. Seeing them together, he stopped with a bow to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

“I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. 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 Miss Eliza, shall take place.”

At this point, Darcy saw that Sir William was looking at her sister, Jane Bennet, and Bingley. He was brought back to the present company by Sir William.

“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 upbraiding me.”

Darcy’s attention to the latter part of this address was very limited, as Sir William’s allusion to his friend kept his thoughts with Bingley, who was dancing with the eldest Miss Bennet. A novel and unwelcome thought came into Darcy’s mind. Was that the general opinion, that his friend and Miss Jane Bennet...

However, he recollected himself, and turned to his partner, saying, “Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what we were talking of.”

She replied, rather sharply he thought, “I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two to three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

With the dance soon to come to the end, he realised that his opportunity to speak to her again during the evening might be very limited, and he determined to change the subject to something more likely to produce a favourable reply.

Remembering that, like her father, she seemed to be fond of reading, Darcy tried again.

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

But she seemed determined not to be pleased.

“Books. Oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.”

He tried again, though disappointed at her reaction.

“I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.”

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

His confidence in receiving a more sympathetic response was fading.

“The present always occupies you in such scenes does it?” he said, doubtfully this time.

“Yes, always,” she replied.

There was silence between them for some time.

Then she suddenly exclaimed, “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.”

For several moments, he puzzled as to the reason that might be behind this question, but could not discern it, so he replied, more resolutely than he felt, “I am.”

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

He was genuinely surprised, for the idea had never occurred to him as a possibility.

“I hope not,” he replied.

There was a silence again, although more brief this time.

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

He reflected that it seemed like a query, rather than a statement.

“May I ask to what these questions tend?”

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

He took some comfort that this remark at least did not indicate any indifference to him and, emboldened, asked her, “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.”

For a moment, he was not at all sure how best to reply. She might, after all, have heard any manner of falsehoods about him from Wickham. With that in mind, he answered seriously.

“I can readily believe, that report 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 on either.”

She looked at him almost anxiously as she said, “But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.”

What meaning this had was not clear to Darcy, and he said to her more coldly, “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.”

She said no more, and they went down the dance for the last time. At the end, they parted in silence.

Despite this unsatisfactory ending to the encounter, she had revealed some interest in his own person as to make Darcy not unhappy with her.

His anger was therefore directed solely towards a former acquaintance of his own. Darcy stood apart from the throng as they took the floor again, and regretted every unfortunate consequence of his family’s long acquaintance with George Wickham.

At last the time came for everyone to take refreshment. Darcy moved with the rest of the company to the dining room, where a choice of dishes was laid out on the tables.

It was in a disturbed frame of mind that Darcy took his seat at a table. He had scarcely begun to eat when he was accosted by the clerical gentleman who had seemed to be with the party from Longbourn. He was unable to conceal his astonishment as this person prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and introduced himself as the Bennets’ cousin, Mr. Collins, lately engaged by Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as the rector at Hunsford. He then went on, at length, to express his good fortune at obtaining that position, and the consequent opportunity to meet his patron so regularly in the course of his duties.

By this time, Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained wonder. When at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak, he replied with an air of distant civility, saying only that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine’s discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily.

Mr. Collins, however, was not to be discouraged.

Instead, he carried on speaking again, although mostly by repetition of what he had already expounded. Finally, Darcy mustered a slight bow, and was able to move away to fetch a glass of wine.

When he returned to his place, he was not pleased to find that Mrs. Bennet had taken her seat opposite him with Lady Lucas, with whom she was talking loudly. More welcome was the realisation that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was sitting at the same table, although also opposite himself and much too far away for him to make any conversation.