"Because he had heard in the meantime of your engagement," said Elizabeth. "Dear Miss Crawford, you must, you must, indeed, let me convince you of his sincerity. He cared for you in Bath; you know he did for he told your sister so." She looked anxiously at Mary, and received a glance of reluctant assent. "No one more deeply lamented the misfortune which separated you after that; and can you wonder that, when you meet again, the remembrance of what happened made him diffident as to his reception, and uncertain of the place he still might hold in your esteem? But he was as devoted to you as ever, and only longed for a chance of showing it. Oh!"--Elizabeth broke off impatiently, but smiling at herself--"I ought not to be saying this to you in these cold, bald words; I cannot plead his case as eloquently as he could; but at least I can implore you to believe in him. Grant that he acted with over-caution, and did not consult his own best interests: he was afraid of precipitating matters by speaking before he could divine what you felt for him. But that his affection was there, I know positively. A man who had cared less would have stayed, would have pretended indifference, and would have congratulated you on your engagement." "I wish he had," said Miss Crawford, trying to smile, though the tears filled her eyes, "for then I could have told him of his mistake, and asked him why he was in such a hurry to credit it." "I do not think he was in a hurry," said Elizabeth sadly; "he would not have believed it if he could have helped it, and if you could see him now, you would know what real grief can do for a man of his nature." "I am sorry," said Miss Crawford, without much warmth, but a moment later she exclaimed: "Yes, it is bad for a man to bring unhappiness on himself through an error, but I suppose it never occurred to him that by going off in that way, without a word, he might be leaving the same thing for someone else. If I were a man, I would never accept my dismissal except from the woman herself; I would at least have the courage to put my fate to the touch." Elizabeth weighed these words for an instant, and then turning to look in her companion's face, she said: "I want to ask you one thing, but you need not reply if you do not wish. If my cousin had put his fate to the touch while he was in London, would he have had the answer, or any hope of answer, that he desired?" Mary coloured deeply, but did not turn her eyes away from Mrs. Darcy's. "It is hardly fair, is it, to ask me a question which he has never asked?" she said, with a slight smile. "But it is useless to try to keep secrets from such a friend as yourself, and I suppose you are answered by now."