“Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him―just as affable to the poor.”
“That is not very likely;our authority was too good.”
“This fine account of him,”whispered her aunt as they walked,“is not quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend.”
Elizabeth almost stared at her.“Can this be Mr. Darcy?”thought she.
In the gallery there were many family portraits,but they could have little to fix the attention of a stranger.Elizabeth walked in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her.At last it arrested her―and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy,with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her.She stood several minutes before the picture,in earnest contemplation,and returned to it again before they quitted the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his father's lifetime.
“If your master would marry,you might see more of him.”
“There are very few people of whom so much can be said.You are lucky in having such a master.”
“He is certainly a good brother,”said Elizabeth,as she walked towards one of the windows.