“Ah bien! Le voilà! Guy—you are quite behind-handed! I have had the acquaintance of les deux belles anglaises for some time! For shame!” cried the dowager Comtesse in English, improved by a most charming accent. “You are not often so negligent! Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, Mademoiselle, pray excuse my son’s faulty manners and do not judge the rest of us by his inattention to civilities.” The look of affection that passed between the mother and son as he bent low to bow, smiling, and kiss her hands, let the Darcy family know that the raillery was in jest, and that this must form their usual pattern of intercourse. After some further nothings amongst themselves, the Comte, his mother, and the Darcy family said their adieux and left the room, but not before receiving enough invitations to supper to prevent their dining alone for at least a twelve-month.

“Despite your fine figure and consequence, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth observed as they entered the coach to return to their apartments, “I believe we would not be half so popular if we were not accompanied by your sister who is—quite conveniently for us—both pretty and single. I declare, Georgiana, you are admired wherever we go; I wonder that it has not yet gone to your head, and that you do not pose about as do the French girls. If I had been so fortunate as to be the centre of such admiration, it surely would have turned my vanity! Sadly, before I married, I was of little consequence—being only tolerable-looking—and found myself slighted by other men, until your brother discovered his partiality for my eyes.” Mr. Darcy, having been reminded of his early and long-disavowed assessment of Miss Elizabeth Bennet many times previous, gave his wife a smile that was a mixture of affection and forbearance, as he handed his sister in.