Old friends and new fancies

by Sybil G. Brinton

There was a short pause; Mary grew crimson, uttered an exclamation, and then, controlling herself with an effort, said in tones of suppressed anger: "If Colonel Fitzwilliam told you that, Mrs. Darcy, he is deceiving you and himself. It would be much better to admit candidly that when he saw me again in London he did not care for me as much as he had thought, instead of making my supposed engagement an excuse for his disappearance."

Elizabeth stood still for a moment, completely taken aback by this version of affairs, and could only exclaim: "Miss Crawford!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon; I know I ought not to speak to you, who are his relative," said Mary, walking on with quick impetuous steps. "Pray forgive me, Mrs. Darcy; I know you are true, who ever else is not. But you cannot guess how hard it is to be accused of sending a person away before they have even approached one; to be blamed for causing trouble when one has never been a free agent, and when the trouble has all reacted upon one's self."

"I would not blame you for the world," said Elizabeth. "You must remember I know but little of the facts, and nothing at all of how they appear from the other side. My principal object, as I have said, is to prevent my cousin from being misjudged, not to make any accusations against anyone; will you not tell me a little more, so that between us we may clear the whole matter up?"

Elizabeth was obliged to proceed with the utmost caution, and to speak less openly than she would have wished, for instinct warned her that Miss Crawford was not yet ready to be guided, or even sympathized with. It was far too soon to assume any special interest on her part in Colonel Fitzwilliam, though her last speech had admitted the existence of a trouble not unconnected to him.

"There is really nothing to tell you, Mrs. Darcy," said Miss Crawford. "What happened is simply a succession of negatives. Colonel Fitzwilliam reappeared in London, and showed every sign of wishing to renew his friendship with my sister and me, but he departed without doing so. I was not engaged to anyone at that time, nor have I been since, as he might have easily found out if he had asked the right people."

"Miss Crawford!" cried Elizabeth earnestly; "he had reason to believe it. Perhaps he did not ask your nearest relatives, but you are surely aware—it involves no reproach to yourself—but it was talked of, and assumed to be a fact, among your friends generally?"

Mary evidently found it difficult to reply, but at length said: "Yes, I know it was talked of, but there was never any truth in it. I know I was foolish. I went about a great deal with those people—with the Elliots; I let myself be drawn into their circle, and I suppose it was pleasant to be fêted and made much of; Mrs. Darcy, I daresay you hardly know what it is to drift into an intimacy that amuses you, and occupies your time, while your heart is never in it the smallest degree."

"I think I understand," said Elizabeth gently. "You had been with them at Bath, and it was difficult to free yourself from the association when you met again?"

"Yes, and my brother liked them—or they liked him—and it is always natural for me to be where he is. But I was not bound to them, and it was not all enjoyment. How often I wished that something would happen to take me out of it! How gladly would I not have gone!"