"Ungenerous! unjust!" said Emily. "Tell me, if one who can himself feel and act nobly, denies to another the capability of a like disinterested conduct—denies it rashly, pertinaciously, without cause given for such a judgment—is he not ungenerous and unjust?"
"To whom have I acted thus? To whom have I been ungenerous or unjust?"
"To me, Reginald—to me! I am wealthy, and for this reason alone you have denied to me, it seems, the possession of every worthy sentiment. She has gold, you have said, let her gold content her, and you withheld your love. She will make much boast, and create a burdensome obligation, if she bestows her superfluous wealth upon another: you resolved not to give her the opportunity, and you withheld your love. She has gold—she has no heart—no old affections that have grown from childhood—no estimate of character: she has wealth—let her gratify its vanity and its caprice; and so you withheld your love. Yes, she has gold—let her have more of it—let her wed with gold—with any gilded fool—she has no need of love! This is what you have thought, what your conduct has implied, and it was ungenerous and unjust."
"No, by heaven! I never thought unworthily of you," exclaimed Darcy.
"Had you been the wealthy cousin, Reginald, of wealth so ample, that an addition to it could scarcely bring an additional pleasure, would you have left your old friend Emily to look out for some opulent alliance?"
"Oh, no! no!"
"Then, why should I?"
"I may have erred," said Darcy. "I may have thought too meanly of myself, or nourished a misplaced pride, but I never had a disparaging thought of you. It seemed that I was right—that I was fulfilling a severe—oh, how severe a duty! Even now I know not that I was wrong—I know only that I am miserable. But," added he in a calmer voice, "I, at all events, am the only sufferer. You, at least, are happy."
"Not, I think, if marriage is to make me so. I am not married, Reginald," she said, amidst a confusion of smiles and blushes. "Captain Garland was married this morning to Miss Julia Danvers, to whom he has been long engaged, but a silly selfish stepmother"——
"Not married!" cried Darcy, interrupting all further explanation.—"Not married! Then you are free—then you are"—— But the old train of thought rushed back upon his mind—the old objections were as strong as ever—Miss Sherwood was still the daughter of his guardian, and the heiress of Lipscombe Park. Instead of completing the sentence, he paused, and muttered something about "her father."