Читать книгу Гордость и предубеждение / Pride and Prejudice - Джейн Остин, Сет Грэм-Смит - Страница 11

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with Jane, who continued, though slowly, to recover; and in the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were playing cards, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused looking what happened between Darcy and his companion.

“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

He made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“Please tell your sister that I want to see her.”

“I have already told her, by your desire.[29]”

“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you – but I always mend myself.”

“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear her playing the harp. Do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”

“They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not for me to determine.[30]”

“It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write badly.”

“My style of writing is very different from yours. And what do you think, dear Elizabeth?”

“I think,” said Elizabeth, “ Mr. Darcy must finish his letter.”

Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.

When that business was over, he offered young ladies to play some music.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth noticed, how frequently Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to such a great man; and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her, was still more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last that she drew his attention because there was something wrong with her, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present.

After playing some Italian songs, Mr. Darcy, coming to Elizabeth, said to her:

“Do not you feel like dancing, Miss Bennet?”

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.

“Oh!” said she, “I heard you before, but I could not immediately decide what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say ‘Yes,’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste. But I say ‘no’, I do not want to dance a at all – and now despise me if you dare.”

“Indeed I do not dare.”

Elizabeth was amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness. Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous; and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane was sincere.