They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced;but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft,when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Applause stopped Elizabeth. With the sun behind her audience, Elizabeth could not see their faces. But from his posture, she recognized one immediately. Mr. Darcy!He found me again.
Elizabeth was torn. In spite of what she said to Charlotte, she was not displeased to see him. Since he rescued her, the dangerto her heart was real, something she could not share with her friend. The truth was that she had been devastated to miss Mr. Bingley’s ball, the one time that she would have gladly said ‘yes’ had Mr. Darcy asked for a dance. Where she had been angry at him, she now saw his fine qualities.
What a hopeless case.
She focused her attention on the smiling man at Mr. Darcy’s side as they strode toward her.
“Miss Bennet, my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of the Regulars. Cousin, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”
“A pleasure, Miss Bennet.” The colonel bowed elegantly.
Elizabeth curtsied, using the occasion to gather her wits about her. Quickly donning her bonnet, she tied the ribbons so tightly they pinched the skin under her jaw.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I was unaware I had company for my performance.” Hoping the men would think the heat in her face was the result of exposure to the sun, Elizabeth stilled her pounding heart by forcing herself to inhale slowly.
The colonel replied, “Do not be distressed. There is nothing so lovely as a pretty lady enjoying the delights of nature.”
Ah, a flirt.Unwittingly, Elizabeth compared him to the silent man standing next to him. The colonel was not as tall nor as handsome. Yet, his face and countenance were approachable and friendly.
“Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Darcy said, “You read Wordsworth?”
“You seem surprised,” she teased, her purpose being to unsettle him. “This begs the question, Mr. Darcy, do you not think that a lowly daffodil is worthy of being extolled in poetry, or should only roses earn the privilege?”
“I do believe a daffodil is deserving.” A slight grin appeared at the corner of his mouth. “I am onto your game, Miss Bennet, forit was my copy of Wordsworth you borrowed from Netherfield’s library. I know the poem well.”
