Page 71 of Dear Friend

Mary's mouth pressed into a thin line, though she made no reply.

“Mama,” Elizabeth said, torn between amusement and genuine sympathy for her sister, “you cannot dispose of Mary to a gentleman she has not yet met merely because Papa suspects he may have matrimony in view.”

“I am disposing of nobody, Lizzy. I am only observing what seems sensible, which is a very different thing entirely.” Mrs. Bennet waved away the objection. “We shall see what the man is like when he arrives, and then we may judge for ourselves. Though I do not see why Mary should object to a clergyman. She is forever reading sermons and improving books as it is.”

“Reading a sermon and marrying the gentleman who delivers it are not necessarily the same undertaking,” Elizabeth observed.

Mr. Bennet's mouth twitched.

“Well, I am sure I have said nothing unreasonable,” Mrs. Bennet protested. “And if Mr. Collins truly means to marry one of the girls, I should like to know what objection anyone can have to Mary. Jane cannot be expected to throw over Mr. Bingley, and I certainly shall not have Lizzy encouraged to look at a clergyman when Mr. Darcy has ten thousand a year.”

“Mama!”

“What? It is only common sense.”

Mr. Bennet, who had watched the exchange over the top of his spectacles with evident enjoyment, returned his attention to his breakfast. “I have five daughters, madam, but I have not yet resigned myself to auctioning a single one of them to appease a cousin neither of us has any particular fondness for. Mary least of all, given how very little say she has been permitted in the matter thus far.”

“I have not auctioned anybody!”

“No, my dear. Mr. Collins has not yet arrived. I am merely anxious that we observe the proper order of things.”

Kitty smothered a laugh behind her cup, while Lydia made no such attempt. Even Jane's smile threatened to escape her, though Mary maintained a rigid attention to her plate.

Elizabeth caught her father's eye across the table and saw there precisely the gleam she had expected. Whatever the rest of the household might feel about the arrival of Mr. Collins, Mr. Bennet was plainly anticipating Friday with considerably more relish than dread.

~

Having read Mr. Collins's letter for themselves on the morning following their father's announcement of his impending visit, Elizabeth was not surprised to find Mary quite unmoved by their mother's recommendations concerning her dress for the occasion. If Mrs. Bennet had already determined that Mary ought to encourage their cousin's matrimonial intentions, Mary herself appeared equally determined that no alteration in her appearance should suggest she shared the design.

Mrs. Bennet was still lamenting her refusal to wear the green gown and matching bonnet, which she declared did more for Mary's complexion than anything else she possessed, when Mr. Collins's carriage was seen approaching Longbourn at about four o'clock on Friday afternoon. The announcement immediately threw the house into greater activity, Mrs. Bennet abandoning Mary's appearance only because there was no longer sufficient time to improve it.

Elizabeth had formed no very distinct picture of her cousin, but the gentleman who descended from the carriage answered tolerably well to what little she had imagined from his letter. He was of average height and somewhat heavy in his movements, with a slight unevenness in his gait which became more apparent as he approached the house. His clothes were respectable without being particularly elegant, and Elizabeth privately thought that several days upon the road might account for the untidiness of his hair, though it could not so readily excuse the stained teeth displayed whenever he smiled.

“What a lovely day it is finally to see you, Cousin Bennet.” He bowed with a solemnity which appeared carefully practised, his voice carrying the same affected civility Elizabeth had already detected in his letter. “And to see Longbourn and its environs at last.”

“Wonderful to see you too, cousin,” Mr. Bennet replied. “You speak as though you had looked forward to seeing Longbourn in particular.”

Mr. Collins froze. His expression passed first through perplexity and then alarm as he appeared, rather slowly, to comprehend that his greeting might be interpreted as expressing more eagerness for the estate he would one day inherit than for the relations who presently occupied it.

“I apologise, my good sir.” He bowed again, rather more deeply than before. “I meant only that my father spoke so often of Meryton and Longbourn that I have naturally wondered for many years what they were like. I assure you, sir, nothing improper was intended by the observation.”

At this Mr. Bennet merely smiled and nodded, to Mr. Collins's evident relief, before proceeding with the introductions of the assembled household. Elizabeth suspected her father had already discovered considerably more entertainment in his cousin than even the letter had promised him.

Mr. Collins remained perfectly civil throughout the introductions, though Elizabeth noticed that his attention rested upon Jane rather longer than ordinary politeness required before passing to herself and, eventually, to her younger sisters. He complimented each of them with sufficient solemnity to make the compliment seem almost an official duty, and Mrs. Bennet received every word with increasing satisfaction.

Once admitted into the house, Mr. Collins proved himself no less inclined to admiration than he had been to civility. Before he had been three hours at Longbourn, Elizabeth had formed a tolerably settled opinion of her cousin and found herself suppressing more than one laugh as she imagined what Julia would make of him. Garrulous was certainly one word for Mr. Collins, for there seemed scarcely an object within his sight which did not invite some observation. He admired the entrance hall, the arrangement of the drawing room, the size of the windows, the prospect from them, several pieces of furniture, and the tea cups which Mrs. Bennet was obliged to inform him had been purchased by herself and would therefore not form part of his future inheritance.

Before the evening was much advanced, Elizabeth had privately added nincompoop to her assessment. Mr. Collins appeared incapable of maintaining an opinion for any length of time without introducing the superior judgement of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose condescension in presenting him with the living of Hunsford in Kent seemed to constitute the greatest event of his existence. Her ladyship's opinions were produced upon subjects ranging from the proper dimensions of a drawing room to the education of young ladies, and Elizabeth soon began to wonder whether her cousin's parishioners heard quite as much of God on Sundays as they did of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

There was, however, one aspect of his attention which Elizabeth found considerably less amusing. Mr. Collins's interest had first settled upon Jane and then, with no very great attempt at concealment, transferred itself to Elizabeth. By tea he had contrived to enquire after their habits of reading, their accomplishments, and their opinions upon several matters which seemed to Elizabeth remarkably connected with his own notions of the virtues desirable in a clergyman's wife. Whatever uncertainty might have remained concerning the matrimonial hints contained in his letter was quickly disappearing.

Elizabeth therefore resolved that, should Mr. Collins eventually honour her with the proposal towards which his conversation appeared to be advancing, her refusal would leave him in no doubt of her sentiments. Happily, by evening the necessity seemed rather less immediate. She did not know what intervention had taken place, but her cousin's attentions underwent a sudden and unmistakable alteration, and Mary, whom he had previously regarded with no greater interest than Kitty or Lydia, became the object of a marked consideration. Mr. Collins even observed, with great approval, that she appeared to possess the most serious disposition of all her sisters, a distinction Mary received with rather less gratitude than he seemed to expect.

Later that evening, when the girls were alone together, Kitty supplied the explanation. She had overheard their mother speaking privately to Mr. Collins and informing him, with very little delicacy, that both Jane and Elizabeth were already receiving the particular attentions of gentlemen whose situations made their prospects exceedingly promising. Mr. Collins, she had assured him, would therefore do much better to direct his consideration towards Mary, who was not only entirely unattached but, in Mrs. Bennet's estimation, peculiarly well suited to the duties of a clergyman's wife.

Mary, for her part, announced before retiring that she had no intention whatever of marrying Mr. Collins. Elizabeth was more surprised by the firmness of this declaration than she cared to admit. Mary had received so little particular notice from gentlemen that Elizabeth had supposed she might be disposed to look favourably upon the first respectable man who offered her serious attention. It appeared, however, that want of admirers had done nothing to diminish Mary's willingness to be particular when one finally presented himself, and Elizabeth could not help respecting her a little more for it.

Elizabeth retired at about ten o'clock that Friday evening, her mind pleasantly crowded with particulars which would certainly find their way into her next letter to Julia. Mr. Collins alone might occupy an entire page, and she smiled as she imagined Julia's amusement at the account she meant to give of Lady Catherine's devoted disciple and his rapidly changing matrimonial ambitions.