CHAPTER THREE #3
That he had once asked her to dance during a ball at Netherfield puzzled her still.
Surprised, she had accepted his request, much to her own disconcertion.
Taking their place upon the dance floor, they had stood for some time without speaking a word.
At long last, she had made some slight observation on the dance.
He had replied, and all was silent again.
How trying of the man to leave all attempts at conversation to her!
After a pause of some minutes, she had addressed him a second time. "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 had assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.
"Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by 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?" he asked.
"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," she had replied archly, "for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds.
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 éclat of a proverb. "
"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. You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."
"I must not decide on my own performance."
He had made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance, when he had asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton. She had answered in the affirmative, and added, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."
He had stiffened. "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," she had replied with emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."
He had made no answer. At that moment, Sir William Lucas had appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room, but on perceiving Mr. Darcy, he had stopped with a bow of superior courtesy 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 Eliza—”
And here Sir William had glanced at Jane and Bingley.
“—shall 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 upbraiding me."
Darcy had appeared engrossed in thought. Recovering, he had turned back to her. "Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of."
"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine."
"What think you of books?" he had said with a rare smile.
"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 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."
"The present always occupies you in such scenes, does it?" he had asked.
"Yes, always," she had replied, then 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?"
"I am," he had said with a firm voice.
"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"
"I hope not."
"It is particularly incumbent on 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. 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 to 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 on either."
"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity."
"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he had replied, a touch coldly.
She had said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence.