CHAPTER 9 #3
For some minutes, the progress of dining proceeded with propriety and little speech.
The servants moved with practised exactness; Lady Catherine’s eye directed without seeming to direct; and the company, released from the necessity of immediate explanation, settled gradually into a composure more natural than that of the afternoon.
It was Lady Catherine who first broke the silence of the meal.
“You have had a long day of it, Mr. Bennet,” she observed, her voice carrying a resonance that, while not entirely softened, was at least stripped of the absolute severity that had governed her during the morning’s trials.
“I trust you do not find the air of Kent less agreeable for the disturbances which have so unexpectedly occupied our attention.”
Mr. Bennet inclined his head with a practiced, easy grace, his manner perfectly poised between the respect due to his hostess and the quiet independence of his own mind.
“On the contrary, madam,” he replied, choosing his words with a thoughtful deliberation that commanded the table’s interest. “I should be inclined to think my visit the more valuable for them. A day which passes in mere comfort is easily forgotten; but one which offers the mind both rigorous instruction and a true diversity of character is not so readily dismissed from the memory.”
Lady Catherine considered this sentiment, her gaze resting upon him with a new species of curiosity, as if recognizing for the first time the genuine intellectual weight of the man before her.
“It is well,” she returned at last, “that such matters should be regarded with a sense of utility. There is indeed little advantage in dwelling upon what cannot be altered by regret.”
“Or,” Mr. Bennet added, his tone remaining impeccably diplomatic while striking a profound note of resolution, “in lamenting a temporary disorder when it has produced a far more permanent and beneficial arrangement.”
He accompanied this with a slight, graceful inclination of the head, leaving his meaning sufficiently open to be received with dignity, yet pointed enough to signal the restoration of their mutual peace.
Elizabeth, who had been attending to this exchange with a quiet, mounting interest, could not entirely resist a glance across the table.
Mr. Darcy, though seemingly occupied with the duties of the service, appeared not at all insensible to the weight of her father's words; and there was, in the brief and silent meeting of their eyes, something far less guarded than before—a quiet understanding that the disorder of the day had not been without consequence.
Mr. Collins, whose gratitude had by this time become too considerable to remain entirely silent, turned first toward Lady Catherine and then toward Mr. Darcy with an earnestness which threatened to overcome both prudence and coherence.
“I am sure,” he began, “that I can never sufficiently express my sense of your ladyship’s continued goodness, nor of the generosity which Mr. Darcy has this day shown toward my future establishment.
Such consideration, extended under circumstances so unexpectedly delicate, demands not merely gratitude, but the most serious improvement of conduct on my part. ”
Here, finding himself unequal for a moment to the dignity of his own feelings, Mr. Collins paused, arranged his napkin unnecessarily, and resumed with renewed solemnity.
“I shall endeavour, in every situation to which Providence may call me, to remember that confidence has been placed where it might very properly have been withheld.”
“That is as it should be,” Lady Catherine replied. “A clergyman’s usefulness depends much upon the propriety of his views.”
“Most assuredly, your ladyship,” returned Mr. Collins, with renewed animation; “and I shall endeavour, in every situation, to render myself not unworthy of the confidence so generously extended to me.”
Mr. Bennet, who had resumed his attention to the table, allowed himself the smallest turn toward Elizabeth.
“I begin to suspect,” he murmured, “that gratitude, when properly cultivated, may prove the most inexhaustible of all sentiments.”
Elizabeth, though fully sensible of the nuances, could not entirely suppress a smile; and in the effort to command her countenance, found her composure somewhat less secure than she might have wished.
She was conscious, too, that the observation had not wholly escaped notice; for Mr. Darcy’s expression, though unchanged, bore the faintest trace of amusement.
The conversation moved with greater ease.
Lady Catherine, satisfied that the principal points had been settled, no longer pressed her authority unnecessarily, but allowed the discussion to take a more general course.
The subject of the neighbourhood was introduced; its advantages, its society, and its improvements were considered in turn; and though her ladyship did not relinquish the direction of the whole, she permitted a degree of freedom which would earlier have been less easily obtained.
Anne de Bourgh, who had thus far borne little part in the conversation beyond the occasional civility demanded by her place at table, turned at length toward Elizabeth with an attention less timid than deliberate.
“You walk a great deal in Hertfordshire, do you not, Miss Bennet?” she asked, her voice quiet, though sufficiently distinct to draw the notice of the table. “My cousin once observed that the country near Meryton is particularly suited to walking.”
Elizabeth, somewhat surprised to find herself so directly addressed by Miss de Bourgh, answered with easy readiness.
“Indeed we do. As there are few large parks in our neighborhood, we are obliged to seek our amusement less ceremoniously. The lanes and fields must answer for what finer grounds might otherwise provide.”
“There is perhaps more variety in that,” Anne replied after a moment. “One sees more than avenues and managed prospects.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes shifted briefly toward her daughter, as though uncertain whether the remark tended toward approval or criticism of Rosings itself.
“It is true,” Elizabeth said, encouraged by finding in Miss de Bourgh a degree of observation she had not expected, “that a country walk loses something when every turn has been too carefully anticipated. I have always thought a lane more pleasing when one cannot perfectly guess what lies beyond it.”
Lady Catherine adjusted herself slightly in her chair.
“Improvement,” said she, “is not generally achieved by leaving land to chance, Miss Bennet. Natural beauty may be very well in its place, but without regulation there can be no lasting elegance.”
“The assemblies in our neighborhood may lack something of the elegance to be found at Rosings,” Elizabeth observed, turning toward her ladyship with a composure which neither retreated nor provoked, “yet I have often believed smaller societies possess advantages of their own. Pretensions are not so easily maintained where everybody knows everybody else.”
Lady Catherine regarded her steadily over the rim of her glass.
“Acquaintance is not always desirable. In smaller societies, people are too often left to form themselves without proper direction. Without some degree of order, people soon grow careless in their habits. There must be consistency somewhere, or there can be no refinement.”
“It is true that we are less formal,” Elizabeth replied, her smile softened though not subdued, “but I do not know that good humor and good sense depend entirely upon formality. Our neighbours are not always alike in manner, yet they are seldom deficient in conversation.”
A faint stillness followed this observation. Lady Catherine looked anxious for a moment; Mr. Collins appeared delighted without precisely knowing why; while Mr. Bennet, seated at sufficient distance to observe without interfering, concealed his amusement beneath an expression of perfect composure.
Beside Lady Catherine, Anne de Bourgh lowered her gaze briefly toward her plate, though not before Elizabeth detected what appeared very nearly the beginning of a smile.
“There is much to recommend Hertfordshire besides its society, from all that I have heard,” Darcy remarked after a pause, his tone even and unstudied.
He addressed the table generally, though Elizabeth could not wholly persuade herself that the observation had been accidental.
“It is said the country itself possesses considerable beauty. I remember the grounds near Meryton to be particularly pleasing. The woods there have been allowed a happier freedom than in many finer estates.”
Elizabeth felt a warmth of gratitude she could scarcely suppress. By praising the country rather than defending her directly, he had supported her observations without seeming to oppose his aunt.
“The lanes are especially beautiful in autumn,” she replied, turning toward him with renewed animation. “The country alters so gently as one walks that the road never grows tiresome.”
“That is not always the case in more admired counties,” Darcy returned quietly.
Lady Catherine, though evidently unconvinced that Hertfordshire could rival Kent in any material respect, appeared willing—for the present—to tolerate enthusiasm expressed with moderation and supported, however indirectly, by her nephew’s judgment.
Mr. Bennet, with the calm observation natural to him, thought that Elizabeth had rarely appeared to greater advantage; while Mr. Darcy, without seeming to attend particularly to her conversation, had in fact attended to very little else.
It was in one such moment, when Elizabeth had been describing the variety of their assemblies, that their eyes again met.
The look was fleeting, yet not without acknowledgment; and though both turned away almost immediately, neither did so without a consciousness that the exchange had been understood.