“Some acquaintance or other,my dear,I suppose;I am sure I do not know.”
“Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!―and so it does, I vow.Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here, to be sure;but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him.”
The colour which had been driven from her face,returned for half a minute with an additional glow,and a smile of delight added lustre to her eyes,as she thought for that space of time that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken.But she would not be secure.
Elizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow,and sat down again to her work,with an eagerness which it did not often command.She had ventured only one glance at Darcy.He looked serious,as usual;and,she thought,more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps he could not in her mother's presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but not an improbable,conjecture.