Pride and Prejudice

Chapter 18

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and

looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats

there assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred

to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been checked by

any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have

alarmed her. She had dressed with more than usual care, and

prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that

remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more

than might be won in the course of the evening. But in an

instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely

omitted for Mr. Darcy's pleasure in the Bingleys' invitation

to the officers; and though this was not exactly the case, the

absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend Denny,

to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who told them that Wickham

had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and

was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile, "I do not

imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he

had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here."

This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was

caught by Elizabeth, and, as it assured her that Darcy was not

less answerable for Wickham's absence than if her first surmise

had been just, every feeling of displeasure against the former

was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that she could

hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite inquiries

which he directly afterwards approached to make. Attendance,

forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to Wickham. She

was resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and

turned away with a degree of ill-humour which she could not

wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind

partiality provoked her.

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every

prospect of her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not

dwell long on her spirits; and having told all her griefs to

Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week, she was

soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities of her

cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice. The first

two dances, however, brought a return of distress; they were

dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn,

apologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong

without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery

which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give.