“Oh! I apologise—I thought my husband must surely have mentioned this. The Comte was very close, we believed, to making Georgiana an offer, and Georgiana was adamant in her certain refusal. We all thought it best that Mr. Darcy speak with him privately, and give him to understand that his suit was in vain. We left his estate almost immediately thereafter, and did not see him again until we were returned to Paris.”

In a sudden motion the Colonel stood and turned toward Elizabeth again, and asked the question that had been plaguing him. “Is Miss Darcy not here? I believed she would be here, with you—at home—this morning. I have come so early with the express desire of seeing h—you both. Is she resting? Am I to return in an hour?”

The same question having been addressed to her in so many different forms at once, Elizabeth was momentarily at a loss. “Georgiana is gone for a walk. She left not an hour or so ago, but she did not say what time she would return. May I offer you some refreshment, Colonel Fitzwilliam? Would you like to wait for her return?”

“Where was she going?” Colonel Fitzwilliam cried, waving away Elizabeth’s offer, and stood over her, expectant of her answer, taking up his hat.

“I-I am sorry, but I only know that she is gone and that she left in the direction of Piccadilly,” Elizabeth replied, momentarily unsettled by the Colonel’s impetuous manner and unaccountable incivility.

“I am sorry, Elizabeth—Mrs. Darcy—but I must leave immediately. I know that I should explain my behaviour, but I beg your pardon—beg your leave to do so later—forgive me—forgive me.” Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed rapidly, and in an instant was out of the room and out of the house.

“This is a season of wonders!” Elizabeth Darcy exclaimed as she watched the Colonel stride in haste—nay, run—down the street, from the vantage-point of the drawing-room window. “I cannot, for the life of me, imagine what extraordinary caprice or eccentricity we are to witness next from our nearest friends and relations. In spite of my self-proclaimed sagacity in such matters, at present the only conclusion that may be drawn with certainty is that I hardly know anyone, anymore. Perhaps Mr. Gardiner will be seen riding an hippopotamus down Rotten Row—or, Heaven forbid!—Mr. Darcy will be caught bathing in the Serpentine!” In some confusion of mind, Elizabeth walked back to her bureau to finish her letter to Jane, and then turned away to find another employment. “It will not do to attempt to describe the recent events to Jane—I must first be able to decipher them myself!”