Chapter 22 #2
As she lay in bed that night, Mary turned the events of the day over in her mind.
There was no doubt Mr. Collins could not be considered an amiable man.
His manner was pompous, he was puffed up with self-regard, and during the short time he had spent in their company, he had done everything in his power to make himself look ridiculous.
And yet, for all his failings—or perhaps even because of them—the flicker of sympathy she had felt for him, as her father encouraged him to display ever more incriminating evidence of his foolishness, had not been entirely extinguished.
Beneath his stiff and artificial manner, she thought she had caught a glimpse of something uncertain, a nervousness hidden behind his smirk.
He was not at ease with himself, and she could not help feeling a little sorry for him.
She knew what it was to believe herself out of place and always in the wrong, and thought that he might too.
His choosing to read from Dr. Fordyce had only increased her sense of fellow feeling.
It was true he had not seized the opportunity to discuss with her other works of a similar nature; and she had to admit that his conversation did not suggest his intellect was of the most acute and brilliant kind.
But perhaps during his stay, she could learn more about his tastes.
They might read together, discussing their opinions at the end of a morning of quiet study.
She saw herself, little by little, winning his confidence, encouraging him to think of her as a partner in serious study.
It would be agreeable to have a companion in pursuits she had hitherto undertaken alone.
Suddenly she was startlingly aware of the direction her thoughts were taking.
Was it possible she was considering Mr. Collins as a possible suitor?
She was shocked and a little ashamed. She had not consciously intended to think of him in such a light, and yet she could not deny the possibility had begun to take shape in her mind.
What was she thinking? She had met him only for a few hours, and his character had hardly been such as to captivate or amuse.
It was true she had felt sorry for the treatment he had received at her family’s hands; and of course, there was Fordyce.
But a shared taste for improving literature was surely not enough to begin thinking of him as a potential husband?
Charlotte of course would have laughed at her misgivings, arguing that a couple brought together by a common interest stood as good a chance as any of finding happiness; and that an appreciation for the works of Dr. Fordyce might be a firmer foundation for marriage than the turbulent emotions of love.
Mary’s rational mind saw the sense of such arguments; but when she applied them to herself and Mr. Collins, her spirit faltered.
She thought she might in time learn to live with a man whom she did not love, if that was her destiny.
Perhaps she would become as adept as Charlotte in fixing her eyes on the practical benefits of a loveless union.
But she was not sure she could endure to be tied forever to a husband she could not respect.
The marriage of her parents, always before her eyes, demonstrated only too clearly the miserable consequences of such a choice.
Where there was no real esteem, contempt and bitterness soon followed.
If she was seriously to consider Mr. Collins as her partner in life, she must find something worthwhile in him, or she really should not continue to think of him at all.
At first this did not seem an easy task.
When she recalled the many ways in which he had exposed himself during the evening, her heart sank.
But she urged herself to think more coolly, to try to rise above the first impressions he had made; and with a little effort, her determination eventually proved almost equal to the challenge.
Looked at with dispassion, it might be argued that none of his sins were of the very worst kind.
Yes, he was foolish and silly; but he did not seem vicious or degraded.
No scandal attached to his name, he was neither a drunkard nor a debtor, and his temper gave no suggestion of violence.
Most of his faults, thought Mary, lay in the way he presented himself to the world, and that perhaps was not so grievous a crime?
He was still a young man, and his errors need not be fixed and unalterable.
Some of the worst might be corrected in time, especially if he were to fall under the influence of a sensible woman.
Under her gentle discipline, he might learn a little restraint; encouraged by her delicacy, he might acquire some dignity; and directed by her taste, he could perhaps become the kind of man for whom a wife could eventually come to feel, if not love, then at least some mild regard.