“You hear that, my dear? Your reputation precedes you.”
Pippin yawned, unrepentant.
At that moment, Mr. Bennet appeared in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, an amused gleam in his eye. “Let us not distress ourselves, my dear. If our cousin is half as pious as his letter, he will forgive even Pippin’s sins.”
Mrs. Bennet barely heard him. “Hill! The tea! Lydia, stop giggling! Oh, I shall faint before the man crosses the threshold!”
Outside, the carriage wheels ground to a halt on the gravel. A minute later, the door opened and Hill ushered in Mr. Collins.
He was a man of middling height and round form, his coat buttoned so tightly across his chest that his breath seemed perpetually half-stifled. His features, though not ill-favoured, were arranged into an expression of grave self-satisfaction. His bow was deep and deliberate—performed with the solemnity of one accustomed to admiring his own humility.
“Mr. Bennet, sir!” he exclaimed, advancing with both hands extended. “How truly delighted I am to behold you and your most amiable family. Permit me to say that the favour of this reception shall be ever imprinted upon my heart. I consider it a Christian duty, as well as a personal happiness, to seek reconciliation with those whom Providence has joined to me by blood.”
Mr. Bennet inclined his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You are welcome to Longbourn, cousin. We are pleased to receive you.”
Mrs. Bennet fluttered forward with a curtsy of almost equal gravity. “Indeed we are! Such a pleasure, sir. I cannot tell you how very delighted we are to see you at last.”
Mr. Collins bowed again, hand to chest. "The pleasure is entirely my own, Mrs. Bennet. I cannot express what felicity it affords me to find myself once more in the bosom of my family. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was most explicit in her counsel before I quitted Rosings. She observed that a clergyman who neglects the bonds of kinship neglects his very calling. I hope I may always prove sensible of her ladyship's wisdom, and of the extraordinary condescension you show in receiving me so warmly."
How fortunate for us all that Lady Catherine thought to mention it."
The clergyman bowed once more, evidently gratified. "Her ladyship is wisdom itself, sir. I am forever in her debt."
Mr. Bennet, suppressing a smile, inclined his head toward his daughters. “You must allow me to present my girls, cousin. They have been most eager to make your acquaintance.”
Mr. Collins brightened and turned to them at once, bowing in careful succession, his compliments becoming more elaborate with every name.
“Miss Bennet—your countenance is all sweetness. Miss Elizabeth—how fine your eyes, how full of intelligence. Miss Mary—your seriousness speaks of virtue. Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia—youth and liveliness in their happiest union!”
Lydia’s giggle escaped despite her efforts; Kitty hid her smile behind her hand. Elizabeth inclined her head politely, her lips twitching.
At that moment, Pippin stirred, her tail brushing the carpet in slow arcs. Mr. Collins glanced down. His fingers flexed briefly at his sides. He took a small step sideways, as though to better address Mrs. Bennet.
“Ah! A dog?” he stammered. “You keep an animal indoors?”
Pippin, wholly unashamed, blinked up at him with bright, expectant eyes.
“She is very gentle,” Elizabeth replied evenly.
Mr. Collins drew back a little, standing with one hand upon the back of a chair as if for protection. “How very … domestic,” he observed. “Lady Catherine herself keeps several fine hounds for the defence of her estate, yet she holds it most becoming that such animals should remain properly confined to their kennels, lest they offend the refinement of a drawing room.”
“Indeed?” said Elizabeth, before she could check herself. “Then I fear Lady Catherine and Pippin would soon be at odds, for my little friend does not take kindly to confinement.”
Mrs. Bennet cast her a swift, warning glance. Elizabeth fell silent at once, lowering her eyes to Pippin, whose ears flicked in what seemed decided indignation.
Mr. Bennet, perceiving the growing unease, allowed the faintest curve to touch his lips. “You need not alarm yourself, cousin. Pippin is a gentle creature.”
Mr. Collins hesitated. “She does not bite? I hope”
“All dogs do,” said Mr. Bennet gravely.
“I mean—does she bear herself calmly toward strangers?”
“Perfectly,” Mr. Bennet replied. “She reserves her teeth for intruders.”
“Mr. Bennet!” cried Mrs. Bennet, half in horror. “Pray do not make such jests. You will have the poor man terrified!”
The poor man, indeed, looked ready to retreat another step, but Elizabeth, her eyes sparkling, soothed, “You have nothing to fear, sir. She is a perfect judge of character.”
