you would have been invaluable, but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.” On Miss Lucas’s persevering, however, she added, “Very well, if it must be so, it must.” And gravely glancing at Mr Darcy, “There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with. ‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge, and I shall keep mine to swell my song.’”
Mr Darcy nodded his accord through a tight-lipped smile, and before she took leave to play, he bowed low, his eyes meeting hers. Elizabeth was quite captivated and though she tried, she could not look away. Her breath caught in her chest as his expression rearranged itself to that of appraisal, equivalent to the night they had first met. Elizabeth finally lowered her gaze and curtsied.
“Mr Darcy,” said she, her voice breathy and tinged with a cadence the likes of which she had never before heard upon her lips.
Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display.
Mary had neither genius nor taste, and though vanity had given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well. Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.
Mr Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too much engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began, “What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”
“Certainly, sir, and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.”
Sir William only smiled. “Your friend performs delightfully,” he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group, “and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr Darcy.”
“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.”
“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St James’s?”
“Never, sir.”
“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”
“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”
“You have a house in town, I conclude?”
Mr Darcy bowed.
“I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself—for I am fond of superior society, but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”
He paused in hopes of an answer, but his companion was not disposed to make any, and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was struck with the action of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to her, “My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr Darcy who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William, “Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you
Elizabeth Amelia Barrington