The morning after Elizabeth had dined at Rosings, been insulted by Lady Catherine, and been interrupted at the piano by the same great Lady, she found herself alone at Hunsford Parsonage. She determined to write a letter to Jane, in her continued attempt to cheer her sister up. But each time she put pen to paper, the breeze and sunshine from the open window beckoned to her. At last, she packed her writing supplies in Charlotte's portable writing desk and made for the outdoors. Rather than taking her usual path, however, she chose to go the gardens closer to Rosings where she knew she would find a bench to sit and write. Thus situated in a sunny spot amidst the trees, she resumed her writing.

Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy called at Hunsford Parsonage, only to find that the family was gone for the morning and Miss Bennet was out walking. He immediately made his way to the grove he knew she frequented, and walked there for some time. But he found no sign of Miss Bennet, which he thought was very odd. At length he gave up any hope of seeing her and turned his steps back to Rosings.

Elizabeth had just finished her letter and started to put her things away when a strong breeze blew all the pages from her lap and scattered them about her. She laughed, and scurried to pick up all the paper. She quickly put everything into the desk and made for the parsonage.

As Darcy approached the house, he decided to walk through the garden and use an entrance on that side of the house. As he passed a bench situated in a sunny spot, a piece of paper blew across the path and landed right in front of his feet.

Wondering what it could be, he picked it up and looked at it. The page was covered with a neat, feminine hand and read as follows:

. . . he even asked me to play the pianoforte after dinner. It made for a delightful opportunity for private conversation away from the less agreeable members of the party -- until the detestable Mr. Darcy joined us. That man takes advantage of every opportunity to remind me of his disdain. I know what you would say, dearest, angelic, Jane. That he is not so bad as I imagine. But, it is you he has made unhappy and since you will not think ill of him for it, it falls upon me to do so on your behalf. Truly, it is no great effort on my part. I know you do not see how he has harmed you, but I am convinced within myself that he, in conjuction with Mr. B's sisters, schemed to keep that gentleman away from you. Everyone could see that he loved you as much as you loved him. It is an odd thing to do in the name of friendship -- keeping one's friend from the woman he loves simply because she is not important enough for one's own tastes! Even if I knew nothing else of his character, of his treatment of Mr. Wickham, of his arrogance and vanity and selfishness, this would be enough -- that he has pained my most beloved sister. So, please my dearest Jane, do not tell me I cannot dislike him. But I know you do not like to be reminded of these events. Please forgive me for mentioning them. There, I am done with it and will write about other things. Lady Catherine did offer me last evening the use of the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room during my stay at Hunsford! She declared that she truly enjoys music more than anyone in England and has a better taste, and announced that had she learnt she would have been a great proficient. I wonder what could have prevented the daughter of an Earl from having any opportunity to learn to play. But I suppose it is none of my concern. . . .

He had actually thought she had been encouraging his addresses. He thought back to the day he had first met her in the grove -- had she not mentioned that she walked there all the time so that he could contrive to meet her? Only now did he realize she had said it so that he might avoid her. But she obviously believed that he disliked her as well. Of course she expected him to take her words as a hint to stay away from her rather than as encouragement of his suit. He was thankful that he had been saved, from either a humiliating rejection or, worse, a foolish alliance. What had he been thinking?

For a week he fed his anger. He avoided her. He resolved almost continually to cease thinking of her, but thought of nothing else nevertheless. He could not sleep at night, he only tossed and turned as the words from her letter passed repeatedly through his mind. By now he had pretty well memorized it. Each time he read it, something else drew his attention, and he was able to understand and consider all of the information it contained. The reasons for her dislike were right there and he soon realized those reasons were not sound. Obviously her biggest objection was to his interference with her sister and Mr. Bingley, but he had not done anything wrong in his view. It seemed Miss Bennet had been in love with Bingley, but he had not seen it at the time. He had only helped Bingley escape a loveless marriage that would have brought him no advantage. Elizabeth was wrong about him. And, if she had given credit to anything Wickham had said, she was wrong there too. Her dislike of him was based on misunderstanding and lies. That was something that could be remedied.

He wasn't sure why it was so important that she should know the truth. He knew he was better off without her; that learning of her dislike had been a blessing that kept him from making a terrible mistake. But he could not abide the idea of her thinking so ill of him -- especially as her opinion was based on false information. Her party had been invited to Rosings for dinner on Thursday, and he knew he would be awkward and uncomfortable around her if he did not clear things up first. Besides, he had to return her letter to her.

By Thursday morning he knew he had to disabuse her of her false notions of him and if she still disliked him after that, then at least it would be for reasons that were true and accurate. He set out towards the grove where she normally walked, and soon encountered her. He could perceive her annoyance when he turned and walked with her and almost smiled to himself whilst wondering that he had never noticed it before. He eased into conversation with her thinking of a way to introduce the topic he wished to discuss. But, his plans were ruined by the appearance of his cousin ahead of them in the lane. Elizabeth seemed happy and relieved to see Colonel Fitzwilliam, and the three of them walked together for some time until they parted ways. Elizabeth returned to the parsonage and the two gentlemen walked to Rosings together.

Darcy was concerned about the upcoming evening, but he could only suppose the discomfort would all be on his part as Elizabeth had no knowledge that he had found her letter -- except for, perhaps, whatever discomfort she usually felt in his presence simply by virtue of her dislike. He could hope for no opportunity to speak to her during the course of the evening, and he would be leaving the country on Saturday morning. If he was to talk to her and return her letter, he would have to find an opportunity to do so sometime during the following day.

He steeled himself for her arrival, but was surprised when she was not of the party from Hunsford. She had remained at the parsonage with a headache. Recalling that Colonel Fitzwilliam had foiled his plans to speak with her privately earlier in the day and that there was but one day left before her departure, it occurred to him that this was likely the best chance he would get to speak to her alone. When the ladies withdrew after dinner, he made his excuses to Mr. Collins and, ignoring his cousin's questioning gaze, he set out for the parsonage.

Elizabeth had been perusing Jane's letters. She had re-written the one she had lost in the park and sent it, but had not yet received a reply. She was thinking particularly of Jane's disappointment and reading for any expression of it when she was suddenly roused by the sound of the doorbell. She wondered who it could be but nothing could have prepared her for the utter amazement of seeing Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word.

After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began, "Miss Bennet, I have something that belongs to you." He pulled the letter out of his pocket and handed it to her. "I hope you can forgive me, I should not have looked at it." She took the letter from him and colored as she realized he had read everything she had written about him. She was mortified.

"It was an impulse to read it once I picked it up. As soon as I saw that it was of a personal nature I ought to have stopped, but I had already noticed my name. Please accept my apology for having intruded upon your privacy in such a way." She was amazed that it had been within his power to apologize and in such a civil way after reading what she had written, but then she remembered that he had been in possession of the letter for more than a week. As if reading her thoughts, he continued, "I would have returned it sooner, but I confess I was angry at first and then when I tried to give it to you earlier today we were interrupted by my cousin."

Elizabeth finally found her voice. "I thank you for returning it to me, sir." She was at a loss for anything further to say. She didn't feel like she should have to explain her opinion of him and he had not asked for any explanation. Perhaps if she said nothing, he would go away.

But it was not to be. Darcy made no move towards the door. Instead, he raked his fingers nervously through his thick wavy hair. He was unsure where to begin. Finally, he turned to her and said, "Miss Bennet, in addition to returning your letter to you, I had also hoped to speak to you of its contents. I admit to having been very surprised to learn that you held me in such low esteem. But, the reasons you enumerated for that opinion are based upon false information, which I would like to address."

"Mr. Darcy, I cannot imagine why any of my opinions should be of interest to you or why you believe it worthwhile to spend any of your valuable time on attempting to alter them; but I can assure you they are based upon my own observations and information I deem to be reliable. That is good enough for me."

"I can assure you, madam, that Mr. Wickham's word is anything but reliable."

So caught up was she in thinking of his presumed interference in Jane's sad situation, she had all but forgotten the mention of Mr. Wickham in her letter. "So I am to rely upon your word, instead?" she asked. "And I suppose you will deny any involvement in my sister's disappointment as well."

"I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister."

"I knew it," she said triumphantly. "Then my information is not false after all. You have confirmed my suspicions and freely admitted to your part in ruining, perhaps forever, the hopes of a most beloved sister -- and those of your own friend in the bargain."

"It is not all as you perceive. I admit to dissuading Bingley from returning to Hertfordshire, where he would very likely have soon proposed to Miss Bennet. Allow me only to explain the reasons for acting as I did and then you may despise me with all the conviction of knowing that your contempt is based upon truth."

She could say nothing in response and this he considered sufficient encouragement to proceed with his disclosure. "I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country. But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before. At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that Bingley's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him."

To this she could not help but respond, "How can your observation of so strong a partiality in your friend possibly exculpate you from any wrongdoing in separating him from the object of his affection?"

He continued, "I also watched your sister. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment."

"And you based your judgment on one evening's observation? Had you not seen them together during the preceding weeks? It would have been impossible to believe either of them indifferent to the other." But even as she spoke, she remembered Charlotte's observation that Jane did not show her feelings enough.

"If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in an error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error, to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert that the serenity of your sister's countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched. That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain, but I will venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason."

"How can anyone be truly impartial when they desire one outcome of their so-called investigations over the other? You saw only what you wished to see because you did not desire your friend to marry a woman who you deemed so far beneath him."

"I will not deny that I objected to the marriage on grounds besides my conviction in Miss Bennet's indifference. But those other grounds were given more weight because I believed she did not return his affection. The want of connections, was not so great an evil for Mr. Bingley as . . . . as the other causes of repugnance that I noticed. I will state them frankly, but briefly. The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father." Elizabeth's shocked anger in response to this assertion was plainly visible in her expression. "Pardon me," he said quickly, "I do not wish to offend you. And perhaps it is not appropriate for me to mention such things. But I suspect you would acknowledge, if only to yourself, the truth of my observations. And, amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both."

Elizabeth's anger was deeply stirred by his statements about her family, but his praises of herself and Jane in his very next breath shocked her into silence. She was left confused by his speech and wished only for a few moments of privacy to meditate on these revelations and attempt to understand them. But he continued.

"I will only say farther that, from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon returning. Now, I will explain the part which I acted. His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London. We accordingly went—and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend, the certain evils of such a choice. I described, and enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance, which I hesitated not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal, regard."

Elizabeth could be silent no longer. She stood from her chair and walked away from Mr. Darcy. Then she turned and said, "Did not you think that perhaps your friend would be a better judge of the feelings of the woman he loved?"

Darcy replied wistfully, "A man in love does not always perceive a woman's feelings with accuracy."

"It would seem in this case, sir, that his perception was far more accurate than that of a man not in love -- who investigated the feelings of both with deliberate impartiality."

"Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill consequence is, perhaps, probable; but his regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. It is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them."

"You cannot condemn having taken advantage of your friend's reliance on your judgment and convincing him to do as you wished on a matter so personal and of such great import as whom he should marry? I do not see why his choice of bride should have concerned you at all."

"I acted as his friend, Miss Bennet. Truly, I believed I was protecting him. It never occurred to me that your sister might suffer as a result."

"No, it never occurred to you because you do not concern yourself with the feelings of others, Mr. Darcy."

"I am sorry that you take that view."

"Do you mean to imply that my view is an inaccurate one, sir?"

"I believe it is."

"You have already proven that you behaved with a careless disregard for the feelings of my sister. But I can supply another example. Long before your interference in my sisters affairs had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? or under what misrepresentation, can you here impose upon others?"

"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," said Darcy in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.

"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"

"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed."

"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages, which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule."

Darcy forced himself to be calm -- he had known Wickham had been involved in the formation of Elizabeth's ill opinion of him. Having composed himself, he continued as follows, "Of what Mr. Wickham has particularly accused me, I am ignorant; therefore, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity."

He paused as Elizabeth too collected herself. They both resumed their chairs and he began speaking again, "Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates; and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his god-son, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge;—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of this young man's society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it."

He paused to gather his thoughts, and Elizabeth took the opportunity of saying, "Thus far you have told me nothing Mr. Wickham did not already relate to me himself."

"As I said, I do not know what he has told you, but I do not expect there will be much more repetition in what I am about to relate. As I said, my father loved Mr. Wickham and never knew him for what he was. But, for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities—the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have." The extravagance and general profligacy which Darcy scrupled not to lay at Mr. Wickham's charge exceedingly shocked Elizabeth. Yet, she said nothing. He paused at this point in his speech and looked away from her for a moment, then turned back to her again and said quietly, "Here again I shall give you pain — to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character. It adds even another motive." It was obvious from her expression that she was surprised by this remark, but her curiosity kept her silent.

Darcy continued, "My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow, and, if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds." Elizabeth was a bit surprised that Darcy's tale so closely matched Wickham's, she had not known what method of defense he might assert, but she had considered it likely that he might deny any obligation to Wickham at all.

After another pause, Darcy continued, "Mr. Wickham's father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events he wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited." Elizabeth's interest was now excited even further. Wickham had never mentioned this. "He had some intention, he added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds."

Elizabeth arose and turned away from him. He paused, waiting for her to come to terms with his revelations, knowing the worst was yet to come. Her immediate response was to disregard Darcy's words as the grossest falsehood. She had to stop herself from openly challenging his veracity. Mr. Wickham had been so sincere in his disclosures. How could he have accused Darcy of such injustice against himself for denying him advantages that he had disclaimed? And in exchange for so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds? She did not know how much more she could hear without speaking out in defense of her friend, but she thought it best to wait until Darcy should have done. She sat down again and looked at him expectantly.

"After these financial matters were settled, all connection between us seemed dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town, I believe, he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation." Elizabeth's surprise was evident. Darcy continued, "His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question—of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions." Here, he paused, then said boldly, "You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it." Elizabeth continued to be shocked by Darcy's disclosures, but with this shock came understanding. Here was a repetition of all Wickham had said, but with the addition of the preceding explanation, the facts now took on a completely different meaning. One that made Wickham appear in the worst possible light and one that made Darcy appear . . . completely blameless.

She thought he must be finished and was beginning to think of an appropriate reply when he spoke again. "Mr. Wickham's resentment of me for this decision was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others, as in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every appearance of acquaintance was dropt. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice." With this he stopped speaking. Elizabeth could scarcely believe that there was more he intended to disclose. What further charges could Mr. Darcy lay upon Mr. Wickham than those he had already mentioned?

He was silent for a long moment and she began to wonder whether he could continue. He ran his fingers through his hair and finally said, "I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself. I have no doubt of your secrecy but I must ask you now to give me your reassurance of it."

She replied, "Of course I would not betray your confidence, Mr. Darcy."

He sighed and taking a deep breath he related the following in quiet even tones, "My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement." Elizabeth's shock was now beyond anything she had yet experienced, and it was evident in her expression. "She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement; and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure, but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge." Elizabeth let out the breath she had not even known she was holding. This much at least, must be true. She could not imagine even Mr. Darcy inventing such a scandalous falsehood involving his own sister. And, everything in his demeanor, his expression, his tone of voice spoke of the pain he must have felt on the occasion. There could be no question of his sincerity.

"Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed." His voice was ragged, tired, wistful.

After a momentary pause, he seemed to remember the purpose of his speech and continued, "I have now given you a faithful narrative of every event in which Mr. Wickham and I have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards him. For the truth of every thing I have related tonight, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from seeking confirmation of them from my cousin."

Elizabeth said quietly, "That will not be necessary."

Darcy leaned forward and said, "I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood, Mr. Wickham has imposed on you; but his success is not, perhaps, to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of every thing concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination."

"I am afraid you give me too much credit, Mr. Darcy -- I was suspicious of you, of your motives, of your character from the very beginning of our acquaintance."

"Because of my arrogance and vanity and selfishness . . . " he said quietly.

"That all seems so inconsequential in comparison to your revelations this evening. I only wish I understood why you would disclose something so private to me."

"I trust in your confidence."

"But why make the attempt to alter my opinion of you at all?"

"Perhaps my vanity could not abide the thought of anyone thinking ill of me," he said with a slight smile.

"Mr. Darcy . . ."

"Or perhaps I had another motive."

"I am all curiosity, sir."

He sighed then said, "Miss Bennet, I would wish you to know that I have never held you in disdain, as you stated in your letter. Let us make a new beginning. Let us be friends in earnest."

"With all due respect, sir. While I acknowledge that I was wrong to believe in Mr. Wickham so readily and that your character is not so deficient as he represented, I cannot forgive you for your part in my sister's disappointment. Even if she did not show her feelings to your satisfaction, it was officious and presumptuous of you to interfere."

Now it was Darcy's turn to be surprised. After everything he had explained and revealed, she would not accept his friendship. His hopes for anything more, he had abandoned the moment he had discovered her letter, but the possibility of an accord had been raised within him during their conversation this evening.

Elizabeth thought she saw something of pain in his expression and said, "Mr. Darcy, even you admitted the error in having practiced deceit when you elected to keep my sister's presence in London from Mr. Bingley. That, at least, is a mistake you can correct. Then leave Mr. Bingley to make his own choices. It is a start . . . if you wish to call me your friend."

As he stood there facing her -- facing the only request she'd ever made of him -- he realized he could deny her nothing. He loved her -- still. He had been fooling himself to believe the discovery of her dislike of him had affected his feelings for her. And he knew she was right. He could and should correct his mistake. "I will speak to Bingley upon my return to London."

Elizabeth, though surprised by his acquiescence, could not help but smile in response. Hope for Jane's happiness had suddenly been restored.

Mr. Darcy rose and said, "I should leave you now. Thank you for listening to me."

"Thank you for enlightening me, sir."

He said good night and left the room only after a slight hesitation and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.

When they met again at Pemberley, several months later there was no lack of conversation as the recent engagement of her sister and his friend provided a constant topic for discussion; and Darcy had never felt a greater rush of pleasure than when Elizabeth introduced him to her relations as her friend.