Old friends and new fancies

by Sybil G. Brinton

"I thought not," said Miss Crawford, and after a moment's pause she added, colouring slightly: "I have had too much experience of your kindness to think that you would treat me differently if you did know the whole circumstances; nevertheless, I felt sure that you did not, and I made up my mind before I came here, that I would not be any further indebted to you while you remained in ignorance. Each day I have been expecting you to ask me some question about the reason for Lady Catherine's hostility to us, for you were fully entitled to an explanation after the kind and generous way in which you wrote to me, and which I fear I acknowledged so inadequately." She stopped, emotion and weakness depriving her momentarily of speech, and Elizabeth, who had been endeavouring to check her, took hold of her hand, and with the utmost gentleness begged her not to continue and not to agitate herself.

"Dear Miss Crawford, I am entitled to no explanation, and I do not wish for one. It is you who ought to receive the fullest apologies of the whole family for my aunt's conduct to you. My cousin told us all that happened that evening after we left, and, as I told you in my letter, I can never be sufficiently ashamed and grieved on account of what you were subjected to. If you can forgive us, do not let us revive the subject; it is painful to us both."

Miss Crawford indicated that she wished to be allowed to speak, and after a few moments spent in recovering herself, she went on in a low voice, and looking away from Elizabeth: "I did not mean to refer to that part of it, and least of all with you, whose goodness has almost obliterated it from my mind. I mean the reason for Lady Catherine's attack. You must have surmised that there was some cause for it; she must have told you that she had heard something to my detriment, or, at all events, you have gathered that something of the kind exists? It is that that I wish to make clear; I feel that I owe it to you to tell you exactly, as far as they concern myself, what things are said about me, in order that when you hear them from others, you may be able to separate the true from the false. For some of them are true, you know; that is the unfortunate part of it." As she concluded, she glanced at Elizabeth with an attempt at a smile, though her hands were trembling.

Elizabeth attempted to calm and reassure her. "There is no need for you to tell me anything if you do not feel equal to the effort," she said. "I think I do already know the greater part of the story, and I can assure you that we have never believed the smallest thing disadvantageous to yourself. I had heard enough of it before Mr. Yates appeared to be convinced that you were the person injured and misjudged, and that a maliciously distorted version of events was poured down my aunt's ears. I shall be very happy if some day you will give me your confidence, but I fear it might do you harm to talk of it just now, and recall things in which persons you cared for were involved?"

Elizabeth's manner was so kind, that Mary was glad to allow herself to be persuaded, and lay back on her sofa murmuring: "Yes, you are right," looking at the same time tired and relieved. She presently added, with a little more brightness: "I am glad you know, and that you do not think me such a monster as Lady Catherine described."

"I never thought you were a monster, my dear Miss Crawford," assured Elizabeth, smiling and studying her guest's countenance while her own mind was busy. Miss Crawford's definitely, if laughingly expressed desire to be reinstated in the good opinion of Mrs. Darcy, probably included in its object the rest of the family; and, if so, then in spite of their abrupt separation at Bath, in spite of all that had happened since in London, Colonel Fitzwilliam must be among the number. Elizabeth felt as if she were groping in the dark, for she had no clue to Miss Crawford's present feelings towards him; but though she had not intended to speak of him yet, this was at least an opportunity of discovering whether they were feelings of goodwill. She accordingly said, as if continuing the same train of thought: "My cousin was so glad that he had happened to remain behind us, and could therefore attempt to do something, even though it was but little, to remedy the evil caused by those objectionable Ferrars."

Mary started and changed her position, and Elizabeth, though not looking directly at her, could perceive a variety of expressions pass across her face. She did not answer immediately, and her reply, when uttered: "It was very kind of Colonel Fitzwilliam," sounded cold and reserved.

"I do not regard it as kindness," said Elizabeth; "his regard for you and his indignation on your behalf made him anxious to do far more. He told me that he bitterly regretted having left you that evening, after we had gone away. If he had stayed near you, he could have prevented much that followed."

Again Mary took some time to reply, and when she did, to Elizabeth's surprise, it was with more than a touch of scornfulness. "Colonel Fitzwilliam has a great power of self-effacement, has he not? He must have practiced the art of disappearing unexpectedly, with as little warning as the magician in the fairy stories."

"But does he so?" asked Elizabeth, whose astonishment increased. "I had not noticed it. We think him generally a staid and sober person, who does things with even more than the usual amount of consideration. Did he not return—did you not see him that evening at my aunt's?"