“Miss Bennet—such a model of decorum. Miss Elizabeth—I am most honoured, truly. Miss Mary—a serious countenance speaks well of virtue. Miss Kitty—most pleasing. Miss Lydia—ah, the liveliness of youth!”
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Sophocles, observing from the sill, yawned.
Mr. Bennet emerged from behind his guest at this display, offering a dry smile. “Mr. Collins, do come in. You might be thirsty.”
“Oh no, sir!” Mr. Collins cried. “On the contrary, I would say that I am accustomed to travelling and resilient to thirst. In fact, I welcomed every mile as another opportunity to contemplate the blessings of family union, the comfort of forgiveness, and the nobility of Christian charity. Indeed, I spent a full hour composing my sentiments on paper as a meditation, which I may have the honour of reading aloud this evening.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, hoping that he would forget and not do so.
Mr. Bennet’s lips twitched. “A treat we shall all anticipate. Will you not enter the parlour and sit down?”
Mr. Collins obeyed, but before settling properly he performed a solemn inspection of the room. His gaze fell upon Sophocles on the sill, who returned the look with unblinking disdain.
“Ah,” said Mr. Collins uncertainly. “A cat.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Indeed. This is Sophocles.”
“A curious name,” Mr. Collins ventured. “Is he, ah—amenable to strangers?”
Sophocles stretched, rose deliberately, and hopped from the sill to the floor with silent grace. He circled once around Mr. Collins’s chair, sniffed the hem of his coat with grave formality, then turned his back and walked away to leap lightly onto Mr. Bennet’s vacant armchair.
Elizabeth coughed to hide a laugh. Jane pretended to study her hands.
Mrs. Bennet made a helpless sound. “He is very particular, you see.”
Mr. Collins looked discomposed. “Indeed. I am fond of animals myself, provided they are of a meek and agreeable disposition. My esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, allows no dogs in the house, believing them too boisterous for refined company. Cats, I suppose, are preferable in moderation.”
Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “Sophocles has very decided opinions about moderation.”
At this, the tomcat, from his new throne, blinked once, yawned, and settled down, his gaze directed firmly away from Mr. Collins.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. “We shall, I trust, not press our guest too hard today. Mrs. Bennet, perhaps some refreshment?”
Tea was served, with Mrs. Bennet fussing over spillage and Lydia giggling behind her cup. Mr. Collins took sugar with ponderous deliberation, extolling the moral virtues of simple sweetness in the diet.
Elizabeth nearly choked.
Sophocles did not move again but watched the whole scene with bored grandeur, tail flicking just enough to signal his withering verdict.
When Mr. Collins eventually offered thanks, bowing again with pious solemnity, Mrs. Bennet all but glowed with pride.
Elizabeth, however, caught Sophocles’s cold, unwavering stare fixed on their cousin’s back as he moved toward the window to praise the view of the lane.
She scratched his head lightly when he returned to her side.
“Yes, I know,” she murmured so only he could hear. “You will not be persuaded. Nor, I suspect, will I.”
Sophocles responded with a soft rumble, dignified approval that needed no words.
***
Dinner at Longbourn that evening was as carefully prepared as Mrs. Bennet’s nerves could make it. The silver was polished until it gleamed, the best tablecloth was pressed and spread, and Hill and the maids were instructed in hushed tones to mind their manners as though they might be under royal inspection.
Mrs. Bennet took her place at the head of the table with an expression of fixed triumph, beaming at Mr. Collins as though she might adopt him on the spot if it would hasten an engagement to one of her daughters.
He, for his part, unfolded his napkin with a flourish that suggested he had observed the habit in a grander house and was determined to replicate it exactly.
“Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Collins began, inclining his head, “I must say, this is a meal most genteel and, if I may, a tribute to your maternal care.”
