Page 162 of A Question of Character

“Will you tell him?”

“I must.”

“He will be cross.”

“Very likely.”

“And proud.”

“Certainly.”

“And handsome while angry, which is very inconvenient.”

“Lydia!”

“What? He is. It makes disagreeing with him difficult, I should think.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and failed to suppress all amusement. “It does not make it as difficult as it ought.”

Lydia’s answering smile faded. “Do not let him make you unhappy, Lizzy.”

The simple warning startled Elizabeth. “I might say the same to you.”

“You may, but Mr. Wickham does not make me unhappy. Other people do.”

“That distinction will not always protect you.”

“I know.” Lydia picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “But he makes me wish to be better, and I think that must count for something.”

“It counts for a great deal.”

Lydia nodded, satisfied for the moment, and went in search of Kitty before Mrs. Bennet could discover she had abandoned the mending.

Elizabeth remained at the window.

The lane lay empty now.

She thought of Darcy, his proud reserve, his wounded feelings, the way his hand had held hers in the garden when he told her they were officially courting. She thought of Wickham, not smiling, not charming, but confessing himself ashamed of the man he had been.

A question of character ought to have been easier than this.

She had always believed observation would lead her to truth if she looked closely enough. People betrayed themselves in small ways. Vanity, kindness, selfishness, sincerity; all surfaced eventually in speech, gesture, temper, and conduct toward those who had nothing to offer.

But what if a man changed?

What if the evidence of the present contradicted the record of the past?

And what if love, instead of sharpening judgment, made every conclusion more difficult?

Elizabeth moved away and took up her bonnet.

She would speak to Mr. Darcy.

Not in anger if she could help it.

Not in accusation, though the temptation remained.

She would ask. She would insist. She would make him listen if persuasion could do it, and if persuasion could not, she would discover how far his regard for her would bend before pride made it rigid.