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“I am trying to determine what I might say to your sister to endear myself to her.”
“It is already done,” said Darcy, “since August at least. Nothing more need be said.”
“Nothing more indeed!” cried Elizabeth. “That is it exactly. I had hoped she might be induced to more communication on closer acquaintance. Silence is not, you know, the plainest way of expressing affection.”
“Do you suppose sincerity of feeling is determined by its plainness of expression? Her Italian is much improved since learning of your fondness for Così fan tutte.”
“Is it?” Elizabeth, herself without any more grasp of the language than her French could gain by ambush and sufficiently acquainted with Georgiana’s talents to allow perfect mastery of any language she liked, had not noticed it. The thought of such efforts pleased her, and, from more interest than anxiety, she continued: “Perhaps that proves that she wishes for me to like her, but the reverse is no more established than before.”
“You would seek the good opinion of someone you do not yourself esteem?”
The question recalled more than one event determined to be forgotten. Elizabeth laughed. “Let us not open that subject at such an hour.”
When the subject was renewed, Mr. Darcy lost no time giving his appraisal of his wife’s complaint: “You have never had the misfortune,” said he smilingly, “of being unable to please where you wish.”
“A noble attempt at a jest, sir,” said Elizabeth, who supposed his motive only half correctly, “but unsatisfactory. You look too earnestly as you speak. If you will not succeed in teasing me, then you must assist me in my object.”
“I have said already that you require none.” His accent was now unmistakably affectionate. “You do not seriously suppose my sister indifferent to you, any more than you suppose it of myself.”
“Now you have hit the mark. I cannot really doubt Georgiana’s affection, when her other opinions are so thoroughly dependent on yours. I am more persuaded that she thinks better of me than she ought.” Neither insinuation seemed to Darcy entirely just, but Elizabeth had not finished. “That she is comfortable with me, however, I cannot believe.”
Darcy here seized his opportunity to protest: “Easiness is not her way, you understand.”
“And I am determined to cure her of it,” Elizabeth said, “when it comes to myself. My vanity will allow nothing less.”
“How is this? I shall tell Georgiana that it is really herself we must thank for our present happiness.”
“It does little credit to me that you think my sister so susceptible to flattery.”
“It is perfectly honest, and a credit to you both. You are spoken of always as an affectionate brother. It is the first honest praise I heard of you, and certainly the first I believed.”
Darcy smiled. “You have a curious notion of a compliment.”
“Have I?” said Elizabeth. “Perhaps, if you suppose my aim to be pleasing you, but that is purely accidental. I only mean to show your sister more of the truth than she has so far been allowed.”
Indeed, the subject of their early acquaintance had been faithfully avoided. Georgiana, who still blushed at the sportiveness of Elizabeth’s address, was spared their greatest mortifications so decidedly as might have made the whole unrecognizable to a more intimate witness.
“It was your speaking of her,” Elizabeth continued, “that made me first think better of you, or more of you, at any rate. I had not thought you, before you spoke of her, capable of such warmth.”
“And you will tell Georgiana this?”
The method of delivery employed by Mr. and Mrs. Darcy over the breakfast table the following morning was a rather gentler one, alluding only obliquely to some distant time at which neither was perfectly acquainted with the ways of the other.
“And so,” said Elizabeth, “I have owed you my thanks for some time. Without your excellence, I might never have been so persuaded of your brother’s.”
A period of silence followed, during which Georgiana, in apparent agitation, glanced between Elizabeth and her brother as if in expectation of reproof. When none seemed likely to materialize, she said, in a voice not less trembling than hopeful, “But you are teasing me again, Lizzy!”
“Indeed,” said Darcy, “Elizabeth has determined to prejudice you against her by appearing less amiable than she is. I know such efforts to be in vain.”
“To prejudice her against me!” Elizabeth laughed. “That, I assure you, is exactly opposite to my design.”
Georgiana understood she was due to reply, but knew not how. In absence of familiarity with such a style of conversation, she finally spoke with great effort and greater solemnity: “It is fortunate,” said she, “for I like you too resolutely for any such change.”