Elizabeth had often paused at the portraits of the late Mr. Darcy and his wife, Lady Anne. Mr. Darcy’s father’s face was one of penetrating eyes, and an active, intelligent countenance. She did not appear as tall as her husband—that was likely the influence of the Fitzwilliam side, if Lady Catherine were an indication—but an English gentleman of the most respectable stamp—distinguished, attentive, confident, and straight as the great oak that could be seen through the window in the portrait. She could trace more of his features in Georgiana than in her own Mr. Darcy, but in his eyes and the set of his jaw and mouth, Elizabeth could read his pride, and the habits of business and occupation: the prosperity of his family, his tenantry, and his fields. It was a countenance of purpose, but not likely one much given to pleasantries or mirth. He was wearing a simple buff coat—but not otherwise in the habit of a sportsman—over well-made, useful English cloathing for the out-of-doors. He was standing by a table, which Elizabeth recognised as the great reading table in the library, with an open volume before him: a book of columns and figures—not a tradesman’s account-book, but a listing probably of the fruits or fields in the plantations and their bounty. Elizabeth had often seen her husband carrying similar volumes as he inspected the home farms.