Old Friends and New Fancies (26 page)

A dreadful misgiving had passed over Georgiana at the beginning of this speech, and only consternation kept her silent till its close. She sprang up, in a horror and dismay that would scarcely find expression, and exclaimed: "Mr. Price! You to say such words to me! What
can
you mean? What can anything mean?
You
--no, no, it is all some horrible mistake."

"No, Miss Darcy, indeed, it is no mistake," broke in William eagerly and earnestly. "Do not be so distressed, I beg you. I do not ask you to give me any definite reply, though you can guess what perfect joy it would be to have one word of hope, however slight, from your lips--but I will wait and try to earn the right to ask for more. Next year my position will have improved, and your brother will not perhaps think it quite out of the question. Nay, I implore you, dearest Miss Darcy, to hear me only this once. I did not mean to trouble you so soon, but I could not bear to go, so far away, with no prospect of seeing you again, and knowing that others might be near you, others far more eligible and desirable than myself--you would understand, I am sure, if you only knew the tithe of what I felt."

"Mr. Price," said Georgiana, signing to him with her hand to stop, and standing erect before him, "I insist that you shall cease. I will hear no more of this. You cannot be in your right mind; at all events, you will not find me so destitute of sense of honour as you think." She paused, choked with emotion at the thought of Kitty.

"Destitute of honour! when you know, Miss Darcy, that I think you the purest, loveliest, best of creatures. Forgive me if I have offended you, only tell me how I may correct it. Do I wrong in speaking to you first? I will do whatever you wish; I would not grieve you for the world."

With great effort, Georgiana collected herself sufficiently to reply: "These professions of yours amaze and horrify me. I cannot tell you whether they are more painful to me if I have to regard them as true, than if, as at present, they seem hypocritical. In any case, it is absolutely inexplicable that you should use such language to me, you who for months past have been recognized by all her friends as the admirer of my friend Miss Bennet."

The words were out, and Georgiana felt hot with shame as she uttered them, conscious that even with the need for openness on this terrible occasion, the betraying of her friend's hopes to the object of them was a shocking thing. She was so overcome as to be unable to look at William Price's horror-struck face.

"Miss Bennet! It is possible that you thought I was paying attentions to Miss Bennet? Miss Darcy, you cannot be serious. This is too frightful. I never thought of doing so, never dreamed of her expecting them, if she did expect them. Miss Bennet was always gay and cheerful--she is a charming girl, as we were excellent companions; but as for anything more--surely you could not have been deceived, whoever else was, when you alone were the subject of all my desires and hopes?"

Georgiana shrank from the task of answering such an appeal, and took hold of another part of his sentence to reply to. "She did expect them, Mr. Price, and she received enough, at all events, to mislead her most cruelly. She has thought of no one but yourself, and of meeting again here, for months past, and everything that has happened in the last week had strengthened her in her belief in your attachment. You cannot deny," continued Georgiana, her indignation rising, "that your constant association, her delight in your society, have given rise to expectation in the minds of her friends, if you dispute its existence in her own."

"No," said William, "I cannot deny that, for I had a proof of it this evening in some remarks dropped by Mrs. Jennings; but though they disturbed me momentarily, I dismissed them from my mind, as I knew she was the kind of person whose chief delight lies in teasing young people about each other, and I thought Miss Bennet, and her other friends, were too sensible to be continually entertaining such fancies."

"Fancies!" repeated Georgiana warmly. "My poor friend is completely wrapped up, heart and soul, in what you designate as a fancy."

"Indeed, I am very sorry," said William, looking utterly downcast, "very grieved and ashamed, if I have caused Miss Bennet a moment's uneasiness, though I can hardly think that others, Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Darcy, in particular, have so completely failed to perceive--but it is useless to enter into the exact degrees of misunderstanding. I, at least, have been as thoroughly blind as a man could wish to be. What can I do, Miss Darcy, to prove to you my innocence? If I have occasioned this unfortunate error, it has been through ignorance, thoughtlessness, nothing more. Is there any one thing, any incident, you could tell me of, by which you may have been inadvertently misled?"

Georgiana's ideas were so confused, and she was altogether so agitated that at the moment she felt as if she would never be able to collect herself sufficiently to marshal her evidence, now it was required; but, luckily, as she tried to think, one episode darted into her memory, which had frequently been discussed between herself and Kitty, and had seemed to bear naturally but one interpretation. Painful though it was to bring such matters into dispute, she forced herself for Kitty's sake to say: "Did you not tell Mrs. Knightley, after the ball which took place at her house, that you had never enjoyed an evening more, and that there was one person whose presence there had been everything to you? Did you not give her to understand that you meant Miss Bennet?"

Distress and surprise were clearly shown on William's countenance. He began to speak, hesitated, and broke off, and then resumed: "I know what you mean, but it is all too bewildering. Surely Mrs. Knightley did not tell you that? I never spoke or thought of Miss Bennet in that connection. Except that I had some pleasant dances with her, she might not have existed for me that evening. I recollect telling Mrs. Knightley what a delightful evening I had had, and it was she who suggested that one person's presence had contributed more to it than any other. I could do nothing but agree with her, as I thought she had noticed my instant and intense admiration of you. It was so evident to me, that I supposed it was to others. I thought of no one else but you. When Mr. Bingley invited me to stay with him, I was doubtful if I could accept, but directly he said that you lived in the same neighbourhood, I determined that nothing should prevent my coming. Do you recollect anything else, Miss Darcy, our meeting at the Hursts,' and Captain Wentworth saying that you believed sailors to be fickle, which made me so uneasy until I persuaded myself that you did not mean it? Oh, do not shake your head, continue to misbelieve it, I entreat you. And in these last few days, if events have happened to throw me more with Miss Bennet than with yourself, it has not been my doing, or my wish. I implore you to be convinced of this, and to accept my assurances of my unswerving loyalty and devotion towards you."

It was impossible for Georgiana not to be moved by these words, though she had tried to check their passionate flow, and had remained where she was, leaning on a chair, solely because her trembling limbs would hardly support her. Now, however, summoning all her courage, and strengthening herself with thoughts of Kitty, she spoke in a tolerably firm voice. "Mr. Price, I must believe that this unhappy mistake has been made unintentionally, since you say so, but the wretchedness it has caused will not be so easily cleared away. The assurances of your loyalty should not be made to me, you owe them to Miss Bennet and her only."

She could get no further, for she was interrupted by William with a vehemence exceeding any that he had shown before. "Miss Bennet! Except as your friend, and as a lady for whom I have a great liking and respect, Miss Bennet is nothing to me, and never could be. Oh, Miss Darcy, you do not yet understand me. Can you forget Miss Bennet for one moment, and tell me if, apart from all that, there would be the slightest hope for me at some future time? the least chance of your having some faith in me, to enable me to strive to win you as I long to do?"

He had made an error, and saw it before he had finished his sentence. "Forget Miss Bennet?" repeated Georgiana, with a flash of angry pride, as she walked away from him. "I do not think you understand
me,
Mr. Price. When I have desired a friend's happiness so long, I cannot lightly see it thrown away, and never, never would I seek it for my own if it was to be at the expense of hers."

William, on hearing this, made a quick pace forward to intercept her, and, turning, so that they stood face to face, he asked in quieter, but not less ardent tones: "Only one word more, Miss Darcy. Forgive me for what I said, but tell me this. You spoke of happiness. Did you mean that it might be happiness to you, if all this were cleared up? Did you mean that I might be able to make you happy, and that there was any possibility of your ever coming to feel for me even the smallest part of what I feel for you?"

Georgiana, trembling, almost weeping, her anger not subsided, but other sensations surging strongly up, brought herself to look for one moment into the eyes of glowing entreaty bent upon hers. With almost a sob, she broke away from him, exclaiming: "No, no; it is of no use to ask me. Do not talk to me in such a way--I must not--I will not listen--I cannot bear it," and fairly ran out of the gallery.

William stood stunned and motionless for some minutes. At last he roused himself, with a deep sigh, from the contemplation of his ruined hopes, and strove to think of what he ought to do next. While desiring nothing so much as solitude and quiet, he remembered that Georgiana would not have gone straight back to the ball-room, and for the two of them to be absent would give rise to remark. To protect Georgiana was an instinct, and it gave him a ray of satisfaction in the midst of his perplexity and misery to remind himself that though she had refused his love, she now knew of its existence, and whatever misapprehension there might be as to the past, she would perceive what influence guided his actions in the future. He slowly descended the stairs, so bewildered still as scarcely to be conscious of what was going on around him; rehearsing their conversation and thinking too late of things he might have said, which would perhaps have been of some service to his cause. A crowd of persons were streaming into the hall from the ball-room, the second dance since he and Georgiana went upstairs having just ended, and supper being now talked of. He mingled with rest, and presently manoeuvered himself into a place near Mrs. Bingley, who was now sitting with Mr. Ferrars, and greeted him with a pleasant smile.

Beyond a causal inquiry as to whether he had seen Kitty, she asked him no questions, and before long he found himself introduced to a young lady, and directed to find a place for her at one of the supper tables. What he talked of he did not know, and the rest of the evening passed in the same dreamlike manner. In his desire to attract no special attention, he chatted and laughed and danced, and was persuaded that he did so as gaily as before, but he could not keep his thoughts from wandering to Georgiana, whom he had seen returning, looking very pale, about a quarter of an hour after they had parted, or to Kitty, whose eyes continually and anxiously sought his. It was far more painful for him to see her than Georgiana, whom of course he held blameless, even for her hard words; Kitty he vaguely felt to be in part responsible for the whole trouble, and though bitterly reproaching himself for folly and blindness, he could not bring himself to go near her, to speak to her, or dance with her again, when such a construction had been put upon all their previous intercourse.

Angry at the pain he was giving her, and driven to despair at the sight of Georgiana's pale cheeks, he found the length of the evening almost unendurable, and the only relief he obtained was in going to Mr. Bingley, and asking him to fix as early as possible an hour for their start on the following morning, for it would be necessary for him and his cousin to be well on their long journey towards Mansfield by the afternoon. It had been already arranged that the three gentlemen should return to Desborough independently of Mrs. and Miss Bingley, who were to remain at Pemberley for another day or two to recover from the fatigues of the ball. Mr. Bingley good-naturedly agreed, judging that the young people had decided that it would be better to make their adieux the night before, rather than come down early to a painful scene of parting at the prosaic breakfast-table, so he went away to consult Darcy, and send out orders to the stables. This done, William felt more comfortable; inaction was intolerable to him, and he would have removed himself from the house at once if he could have done so, since to relieve her of a presence which had become embarrassing and distasteful to her was the only thing he could now do for Georgiana.

She had, as he anticipated, sought the refuge of her own room when she fled from the gallery; but even there the old habits of self-command and consideration for others prevailed over the longing to give way to her grief and distress of the mind. She knew she must not allow herself the luxury of a burst of tears, nor even a little quiet thought, in order to realize what had occurred, and decide what, if anything, she should say to Kitty. No, there was no time for that, there would be plenty of opportunity soon, to readjust their view of recent events, and all that they meant to Kitty and herself. Shaken and unnerved by the shock of William Price's declaration, Georgiana shrank from immediately facing its consequences. She could only take a few moments in which to compose herself and endeavour to smooth away the traces of emotion. That she must see him again was a dreadful thought, but it would be a far worse ordeal to have to encounter Kitty's inquiries and lamentations on the following day, and the surprise of Elizabeth and Jane. Georgiana dared not let herself think of all this, when this horrible evening was not yet over. She hastily bathed her face, and opening the windows wide, leaned out for a few minutes, for the night air to cool her throbbing temples, and went down at last, feeling as if her countenance must betray to every observer the secret of what had happened.

She took refuge at once by the side of Elizabeth, who made room for her with a smile, and did not fail to notice her aspect. As soon as she was at liberty, she asked Georgiana if she was very tired, and took care that she was provided with some refreshment. Georgiana owned to a good deal of fatigue, but declared that she should sleep it off, and Elizabeth, who thought her lassitude partly attributable to some worry about Kitty, told her that she might slip away to bed as soon as she chose, and that Kitty must not come into her room for one of their long conversations; they must wait till to-morrow to talk over the ball. Poor Georgiana assented with a grateful glance, but had difficulty in restraining her tears, as she thought how little Elizabeth dreamt that interview with Kitty could be a thing to be dreaded, not welcomed.