Lady Catherine desired to know all that she could about her daughter's visit to Dr. Hart. For the first time in her life, Miss Anne found herself truly resistant, rather than merely reluctant, to her mother's wishes; and though this resistance was not strong, she still found herself answering as vaguely and simply as possible.

It was true that, had Lady Catherine been present, Dr. Hart would have been declared completely unacceptable. The particulars of the appointment would certainly secure her Ladyship's disapproval, and so Miss Anne mentioned only that she found Dr. Hart an intelligent man, very sure of himself, who had very properly apologized several times for forcing her to make the journey.

"If I may have a say in the matter, mother," she finished meekly, "I should prefer to be seen only by Dr. Hart while in Bath, rather than any other physician."

Lady Catherine was silent for a time, scrutinizing her daughter carefully, before she consented. It was something of a relief to her Ladyship, though she would not have admitted it; Lady Dalrymple had been most complimentary of the doctor—had even mentioned that he was known to have served the Royal Family more than once—and there was no other doctor in Bath with such a sterling reputation. In Kent, it was all well and good for Miss de Bourgh to be treated by a local physician, but here in Bath, among Society, it must be generally known that she was treated only by the best.

And so it was settled that Miss de Bourgh was to become a regular patient of Dr. Hart. Mrs. Jenkinson, as she had promised her young lady, withheld her objections, and Lady Catherine—who had a rather low opinion of most of her employees, and of Mrs. Jenkinson in particular—never thought to ask her.

The rest of the week passed quickly. Anne, as per the doctor's orders, took a great deal of rest, drank a great deal of tea, and paid two or three visits to the Roman Baths, although the crowds there quite discomfited her. She was not accustomed to crowds, and estimated it might well be another week before she could summon the courage to brave the Grand Pump Room itself. Nonetheless, Anne found Dr. Hart's instructions very useful, and was feeling quite herself within a few days, as he had predicted.

Lady Catherine, meanwhile, was engaged in receiving visitors and even (on rare but important occasions) paying one or two visits herself. Once her health had sufficiently returned, Miss Anne was expected to form a part of these social calls, and spent three afternoons in a row in the dark, opulent drawing room at the Royal Crescent. Lady Catherine had rarely stirred from Kent since the death of her husband, and her time in Bath was now much taken up in reconnecting with old friends and distant relations, many of whom had not seen her in some years. She was equally occupied in criticizing these connexions as soon as they left her company (or, if their station and circumstance was not too high, to their very faces), for no-body could play, draw, sing, read, dress, sew, or converse in a manner that met with her complete satisfaction; no-body could ever do anything that Lady Catherine de Bourgh should not have been able to do better. Nevertheless, even she could not deny that they were all of excellent family (or else they should not be allowed to darken her Ladyship's doorstep), and therefore made desirable connexions for herself and her daughter.

Miss Anne did not particularly enjoy these calls, though she was accustomed to them, having spent many similar afternoons and evenings sitting with the Collinses from Hunsford, or with various ladies of the parish who were always glad of Lady Catherine's advice. Anne was of a naturally quiet disposition, which in a lesser young lady would have been called "shy", but she did not believe herself unsociable. Indeed, she was certain she could have conversed very well if she were ever allowed to speak—but that was Lady Catherine's duty. Generally, Miss Anne was presented to the visitor first thing, and was exclaimed over as such a well-looking young lady, so much grown since the visitor had seen her last; she was then relegated to Lady Catherine's shadow for the rest of the visit.

Here in Bath, her mother's visitors frequently brought along their own daughters and nieces, who were generally of Anne's age or younger. The young ladies were always confidently considered by the elder ones to be fast friends, though they rarely exchanged more than a few distantly polite remarks on the weather. The younger ladies among them generally progressed then to the balls and parties they had been to, the scenes at the Pump Room and Assembly Rooms they had witnessed, and what persons of interest they had seen out and about in Bath; but Anne had not yet been to any of these places, and was scarcely acquainted with any one, and so they soon fell silent for the remainder of the half-hour. Anne's particular dread were the occasions when more than one of these merry girls came together, for they always seemed to be in each other's confidence, and hardly included Anne at all. She often wondered why her nerve always seemed to fail her at such moments.

It was on Sunday that the most looked-for visit of the week took place. Colonel Fitzwilliam was invited to dine, and promptly accepted, with gentlemanly deference to his noble aunt and her daughter. Lady Catherine, who had been quite put out that her nephew had not called earlier, was nonetheless appeased by the prospect of his coming. "It will be such a joy for him, Anne," she remarked, "for he really is very fond of me, and as for myself, I suppose that if I had had a son, I should have liked him to be something like dear Fitzwilliam." (Anne had heard her mother make this same comment several times in reference to Mr. Darcy; however, given that gentleman's recent unfortunate marriage, she was not surprised to hear Fitzwilliam's name substituted in this instance.)

For her own part, Miss Anne found herself looking forward to this visit rather more than to the others they had received. She was not particularly close to Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she liked him; he was a good-humored gentleman who, when he visited, had always made at least some attempt to engage her in conversation, though he was most often interrupted by Lady Catherine, who could allow no conversation that did not include her to take place in her drawing room. He was far less reserved than Mr. Darcy, though he had not Mr. Darcy's eminence, being only the second son of an Earl. His manners were agreeable, his countenance pleasing and, most importantly, Anne was already acquainted with him, and would suffer none of the awkwardness of forming a new acquaintance, which had plagued her so much this week.

And so Sunday came; a fine dinner was ordered, the ladies of the house arranged themselves in their silks and jewels, Miss Anne's screen and cashmere shawl were placed within strategic distance (though Miss Anne thought secretly, with a hint of defiance, that she should have little use for them) and Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived, looking quite fine in his uniform.

"My dear Fitzwilliam," Lady Catherine drawled, accepting her kiss. "We have been awaiting your visit these six days at least; what have you been doing with yourself?"

"I do apologize, madam, for not having come to see you earlier; I was unexpectedly summoned to London by my mother, and returned only yesterday."

"All is well, I hope?" Lady Catherine gave the gentleman no time to respond, as she immediately continued, "And does not Miss Anne look very charming this evening?"

"Indeed, milady, very charming." Colonel Fitzwilliam gave Miss Anne a very gracious bow and a very pleasant smile. She smiled back; but it was too late, as Colonel Fitzwilliam's attention had already been recalled by her Ladyship.

"Her health has never been what it should, of course, but I daresay the air here has improved her; she looks almost well, these days. A slight cold earlier in the week, but she has been seen by a physician here—Dr. Hart, you know, who has such a very superb reputation, and was once the official physician of all the Royal Family; I daresay he is one of the finest physicians in Britain, from all I've heard—at any rate, Anne is one of his regular patients now, and he has quite cured her of her cold. It is only her regular complaints which trouble her now, and not to their usual degree. We are all much obliged to him."

"Then I am obliged to him as well," Colonel Fitzwilliam said politely, giving Anne another smile. This time she returned it as quickly as she could, and was gratified to know that he had seen it, before he spoke again:

"And how do you find Bath, Lady Catherine?"

"It is nothing to Kent, of course; I much prefer the gardens and forests of Rosings Park to all of the noise here. I have never been partial to cities. But of course we have seen a great many people since we have been here—or should I say, a great many people have seen us, for of course we are generally the ones being called on."

"Have you walked out much in Bath? There are a great many fine parks and shops, and of course the Pump Room and Assembly Rooms to visit."

"Certainly not; I should think it most unbecoming, for a lady of my rank to be seen so much out in public."

"I must disagree, your Ladyship; I have seen your friend Lady Dalrymple and her daughters sitting in the Pump Room, and Lady Wentworth has been seen at three private balls, and one public, since she arrived a fortnight ago. I cannot think their conduct at all improper. If anything, it is very wise, for one cannot expect the world to be always coming to visit."

He smiled. Lady Catherine, on the other hand, looked rather stunned. Colonel Fitzwilliam had always been of an easy temperament, willing to agree with (or, perhaps, humor) his aunt, and had rarely disagreed with her on any thing. Any defiance had typically been left to Mr. Darcy, and even that was quite rare. Miss Anne thought suddenly that Colonel Fitzwilliam's words reminded her of no one so much as Elizabeth Bennet; Lady Catherine evidently thought so as well, for she said frostily:

"You have seen the Darcys recently, I suppose?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyebrows raised fractionally, but he replied easily, "The last time I saw Mr. and Mrs. Darcy was at their wedding, in Hertfordshire."

"A very modest ceremony, I imagine," Lady Catherine sniffed.

"A simple ceremony, but, I daresay, with real elegance."

Lady Catherine sniffed again. She seemed to be on the verge of saying more, yet her awareness of Colonel Fitzwilliam's friendship with his cousin, and his genial affection for that cousin's wife (country upstart though she was), seemed to be halting her; she could not be certain of her nephew's agreement on the matter of Mr. Darcy's marriage, and it must have been this reflection which caused her to change tacks:

"I should hope you would not settle for such a wedding." Nor such a bride, was the implication, but it went unaddressed.

"I have not planned my wedding to any great degree," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, with some amusement; "I have always thought that task best left to the lady."

Lady Catherine squinted at him for a moment, before changing the subject again.

"And have you been to a great many balls and parties here in Bath?" she asked, with some distaste.

"Only one or two; as I say, my mother called me to London some days ago, and I have only just returned. However, the parties I have attended have been very enjoyable; there are a great many interesting people currently in Bath."

Lady Catherine shared her opinions (few of them favorable) upon this declaration for several more minutes, before they proceeded in to dine. Miss Anne was pleasantly surprised that her cousin offered his arm to her, rather than to her mother, and was even more surprised, though rather disappointed, when he told her that this gallantry was by the Lady's orders.

"However, that does not mean it is more of a duty than a pleasure," he said kindly, and Miss Anne felt her spirits restored.

Dinner was a quiet affair: the first moments were spent silently as all the party focused on eating, and conversation was not revived until some minutes after they had sat down, when Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked that the weather had been uncommonly fine lately.

"Has it? I have hardly left the house; I have been so overrun with visitors. There are a great many people here who desire to see me," Lady Catherine said, rather smugly. "Anne has been out more than I have; she went to the Roman Baths only four days ago."

"Did you indeed, Miss Anne? And how did you find them?"

Anne was caught quite off-guard at this direct address, and could say only "Very pleasant," before her mother cut in again.

"I suppose the weather here must be supposed to be fine when it is only fair; one has not the true natural beauty that the weather affords in places like Kent. It is, you know, the garden of England."

Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, obligingly, that he did indeed consider Kent, and particularly Rosings Park, one of the most beautiful spots he had ever visited. Lady Catherine, still smarting from his earlier disagreement with her, was somewhat placated by this simple acquiescence, and conversation proceeded in an agreeable vein. Her Ladyship dominated, of course, and made a point of avoiding all mention of the Darcys, the Bennets, Pemberley, Hertfordshire, Derbyshire and weddings for the remainder of the evening; and on several occasions Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke to Miss Anne directly, either to ask her a question or to apply for her opinion. At first nonplussed by this unusual attention, Anne slowly grew more easy and even rather appreciative. At one point, to her surprise, she and her cousin held almost an entire conversation together before Lady Catherine interrupted them; to Anne, it seemed as though her Ladyship had been holding her tongue for quite as long as she could bear.

"Well, Anne," said Lady Catherine, as soon as the door had closed on her nephew, "I hope you have not found your cousin much changed since we saw him in the spring."

"No, indeed, your Ladyship," Anne replied, more readily than she otherwise might have.

"He is grown more impertinent, I believe—no doubt the influence of Elizabeth Bennet and all her contemptuous friends. Yet I daresay he can be recovered: after all, Miss Bennet is at Pemberley now, and Fitzwilliam is here in Bath."

Miss Anne was not entirely sure what her mother meant by this statement, and ventured no reply. The room was silent for some minutes before Lady Catherine spoke again.

"You have not requested your shawl once this evening, Anne."

"I have not, mother."

"Are you warm enough?"

"I am quite comfortable, your Ladyship."

"Hmm." Lady Catherine appeared to consider this statement for some time. Then:

"I desire you will go to the Pump Room tomorrow, Anne."

"Your Ladyship?" Anne raised her head. "I had thought we were not to spend much time in the public rooms."

"We are not to spend much time there, Anne, but we shall certainly spend some time there. One cannot be in Bath without making an appearance at these places. You will go tomorrow."

"Are you not to accompany me, mother?" Anne dared to ask.

"I am not," Lady Catherine said severely. "I have no taste for promenading."

Nothing more was said on the subject, and mother and daughter retired very soon after.


As has been mentioned before in this narrative, Miss Anne de Bourgh had not yet made her entrance at the Grand Pump Room. She had taken in the waters for their health benefits only, and though she understood the water in the Pump Room to be quite as invigorating as that of the Roman Baths, it was the other expectations of the Pump Room that worried her. Like her mother, Anne had no taste for promenading; neither had she any taste for meeting acquaintances and conversing with them for half an hour at a time. She found herself quite discomfited enough at the idea of doing so in her own home, that the idea of doing so in a public place, with all eyes upon her (as she knew they would be, considering her position and family) made her quite uneasy.

Yet Lady Catherine's orders must be obeyed, and so Miss Anne, with Mrs. Jenkinson in tow, were to set out for the Pump Room the next morning—not too early, for it would not do to be the first ones there, but not too late, for Mrs. Jenkinson (though privately anxious to experience the famous Pump Room herself) was fearful that the afternoon crush would be entirely too much for her delicate mistress. Miss Anne privately agreed with her, and slept rather ill that night.

Upon rising in the morning, however, Anne found she was not so nervous as she feared. The ease with which she had managed to speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam the previous evening rested lightly on the young lady's heart, and she wondered if the Pump Room could indeed be as daunting as she had imagined. After all, she was the daughter of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, and the heiress of Rosings Park; surely she was equal to the challenge of walking about in a room for an hour or so. Besides, she thought privately, it was quite likely that Colonel Fitzwilliam would be there, and she thought she should have no difficulty promenading with him.

She experienced a slight resurgence of nerves when disembarking before the grand doors; Anne could hear music and voices within, and nearly asked Mrs. Jenkinson if she did not think they ought to come back another day, when it was not so crowded. However, before she could speak a word, she was overtaken by a group of ladies who made eagerly for the doors, carrying Anne and her companion inside right along with them.

"It is not nearly so full as I feared, Miss de Bourgh," Mrs. Jenkinson remarked, once they had disengaged themselves from the small crowd of ladies. Then, quite unexpectedly, she sighed "Is it not lovely?"

The room was large and lofty, with very tall windows. A band of musicians was situated in the alcove, playing some sweet, pleasant tune that Anne (who had very little knowledge of music) did not recognize, but enjoyed. Beneath the music, the room hummed gently with the murmur of conversation and the swishing of skirts and petticoats. There were people everywhere, though it was far from a crush: some groups of ladies and gentlemen were seated, chattering amiably and listening to the music, while others paraded up and down the room in twos and threes, peering intently at every one else. Anne saw a few of them glance her way, and immediately blushed—though of course she had expected attention, being Miss Anne de Bourgh.

"Should you prefer to sit, ma'am, or to take a turn about the room?" Mrs. Jenkinson asked, her eyes roving about the place quite eagerly.

"I believe I will take a turn," Anne replied. She stepped forward, finding a break in the procession large enough to fit both herself and her companion, and they promenaded up toward one end of the room and down toward the other.

As they walked, Miss Anne was quite discomfited to discover that there was no body in the room with whom she could meet. Colonel Fitzwilliam was entirely absent, as were all of the ladies who had been paying such courteous visits to her mother over the past week; she knew no one. To Anne's eyes, it suddenly appeared as though everyone else in the room was there with all of their particular friends and intimate acquaintances; she could see no body else walking up and down so foolishly with no one but their nurse for company. Anne felt herself flush hotly and turned her face away from Mrs. Jenkinson, so that lady would not think her stricken with a sudden fever and raise an alarm.

They walked up and down a few more times without conversation. Anne kept her eyes on the entrance, hoping that somebody she recognized would come in, to no avail. Mrs. Jenkinson, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, and was actively engaged in studying every body else in the room. Finally, Anne turned to her and requested that they sit.

"Of course, ma'am," Mrs. Jenkinson said, though she seemed slightly disappointed. Indeed, no sooner had they found a seat than Mrs. Jenkinson rose to her feet again and insisted that she be allowed to fetch a cup of mineral water for Miss de Bourgh.

"That is why we are here, ma'am, after all," the nurse maintained, though both ladies knew that that was not the case—no body went to the Grand Pump Room for the sole purpose of drinking the water. Nonetheless, Anne consented and Mrs. Jenkinson vanished into the crowd with a curtsy.

Miss Anne realized her mistake almost immediately. It was one thing to have only one's paid companion for company at the Pump Room; it was quite another thing, quite a worse thing, to have no one at all. There are few situations more awkward than that of being completely alone in a room full of people who are together, and Miss Anne was exceedingly conscious of every body else's happy conversation and laughter. The empty seats around her seemed quite vast, and she was certain that everyone else must realize how very alone she was. Face flushed with embarrassment, she nonetheless held her head high and stared around the room, avoiding other glances (some of them, she fancied, quite pitying). She imagined her mother would have been completely unbowed by the circumstances; but then, her mother was likely acquainted with all of the most eminent persons currently in the room, and therefore should never have been alone in the first place. Perhaps it was better, she reflected—perhaps it was most fitting that Miss de Bourgh of Rosings Park should appear most exclusive in her acquaintances. Yet no one else seemed to think her so much exclusive as lonely, and Anne felt very horribly self-conscious; she began to wish, indeed, that she were back in Kent, seated in one of Rosings' fine gardens, where no body would notice if she was alone.

A young lady, flanked by two gentlemen, sat down quite near her. Anne, glancing at her, thought she looked somehow familiar; it took some moments before Anne realized that she was Dr. Hart's daughter (the name escaped her), who had so brusquely interrupted her appointment with the doctor only a few days before. One of the gentlemen accompanying the young lady stood momentarily with his back to Anne, but as he turned to sit she recognized him as Theodore Hart (his name, oddly, did not escape her), who had bumped into her as she left Hart House.

Mr. Hart happened to glance at Anne, and catch her eye; he nodded politely, and she returned his notice with a very slight bow of her own head. She then turned back to watching the crowd, her heart thumping quite hard in her chest.

Miss Anne's dilemma was as follows: she was exceedingly lonely sitting by herself, and conscious that every body else must be aware of her loneliness; here had just entered a gentleman and lady with whom she could claim an acquaintance, however slight. Yet she was rather painfully aware that the Harts, though their father was a gentleman and a respected physician, were far from being her social equals; she was certain Lady Catherine would disapprove of her granting them any notice at all, much less engaging them in conversation. Such a course of action would disastrously blur the distinction between the classes, and may give the Harts ideas above their station, which would of course be intolerable.

Nonetheless, Anne reflected, perhaps her notice and condescension could improve them and their manners, as the Collinses were improved by the patronage of Lady Catherine. Indeed, Mr. Collins was nothing but a country clergyman, yet he and his wife dined often at Rosings, and spent many of their evenings there. Surely, if such a thing was allowable, there could be no harm in Miss de Bourgh's deigning to make idle conversation with Mr. and Miss Hart for half an hour or so.

Her mind made up, Anne turned again toward Mr. Hart, and caught his eye. This time, she accompanied her nod with the most elegant greeting she knew; he responded very courteously, and inquired after her health, and a conversation was begun.

"I am sure, Miss de Bourgh," Mr. Hart said solemnly, "that you cannot have forgotten my foolish sister Miss Rosamond. My father informs me that she burst upon you in his study, entirely without warning, shouting about letters from our Parisian sister, and was only restrained with great force."

Miss Hart colored slightly, but laughed; Miss de Bourgh allowed herself a small smile and, with all the condescension her rank afforded her, insisted that Mr. Hart's foolish sister was quite forgiven, while implying that she had behaved very foolishly indeed.

Anne was rather put out, now that she was given the opportunity to see Miss Rosamond at her leisure, to find her a very pretty girl, with fair hair like her brother's, a sweet smile, and a fine complexion; for Miss Anne was not the sort of young lady who can readily appreciate beauty in other females without a certain amount of jealousy. Yet she was satisfied, after a minute's further reflection, to discern that Miss Hart lacked the aristocratic bearing and noble features that marked Anne herself as a member of the higher class—and besides that, Miss Hart's eyes were entirely too large for her face, and she was a full two inches shorter than Anne, and her chin was rather weak.

"And this gentleman," Mr. Hart continued teasingly, "must be so familiar to you, from looking at us, that you can have no doubt of who he is."

The third member of the party, indicated by Mr. Hart, was quite young and, indeed, very much like the other two. "He is your brother," Miss Anne pronounced after a moment, and was rewarded with nearly identical smiles from all three.

"Mr. Robert Hart," Mr. Hart announced. "And he is more than merely our brother, Miss de Bourgh; he and Miss Rosamond are indeed very exotic, for they are twins." The statement was made so grandly, yet with such a note of good humor, that Anne could not help but smile, though she quickly tried to suppress it; it would not do to encourage Mr. Hart in his impertinence.

"Have you been long in Bath, Miss de Bourgh?" Miss Rosamond inquired politely.

"Indeed, only a week."

"And have you enjoyed it?"

"It is a very beautiful city," Anne said diplomatically, "though I have not been out much in it; this is the first time I have visited the Pump Room."

She expected Miss Hart, like the other young ladies she had conversed with over the past week, to launch immediately into an acclamation of Bath and its many entertainments, as well as long lists of the people she had seen and met and danced with; but Miss Hart said only, with a smile, "There are some very charming walks near here; when your health has returned fully, you must be certain to explore some of them."

"Where do you come from, Miss de Bourgh?" Mr. Robert Hart asked.

"From Rosings Park," Anne replied smugly; then, registering with some surprise that the three seemed quite unimpressed, added, "In Kent. It is a very well-known estate there."

"Is it very beautiful there?" Miss Rosamond asked, quite unexpectedly and, Anne imagined, rather wistfully. "I've so often heard Kent called the Garden of England; I've always wondered what exactly that means."

"I imagine it means exactly what it sounds like," Mr. Robert replied teasingly.

"A garden," Miss Rosamond returned primly, "sounds very green, and that tells us precisely nothing, for most of England is green. If that is what it means to be the garden of England, then one could argue that all of England is a garden—outside of Bath and London and the other cities, of course."

"You are being very literal, and I hardly think it applies to the present argument."

"If I were being literal, I would argue that Kent must be entirely rows of planted flowers and vegetables and apple-trees, for that is what a garden is literally."

"I had heard," Anne ventured, "that twins were always meant to agree."

"Whoever told you that is mistaken indeed," Mr. Hart said drily, "for these twins can hardly ever seem to agree on any thing, unless it be for some nefarious purpose." Yet he regarded them with a fondness that belied his words.

"But Miss de Bourgh," Miss Hart said, returning apologetically to the conversation, "you must tell us about Kent; we are most especially interested, for while Theo lived in London while he was very young, and has travelled, Robert and I have hardly been any place besides Bath."

Miss de Bourgh found herself quite willing to indulge this request, and spent the next few minutes describing Kent, and Rosings specifically, to her audience. She could not say if they were indeed especially interested, but their faces, particularly Miss Hart's, were very convincingly rapt with attention, and they made all of the appropriate remarks and exclamations where they were called for, with all of the proper emotion. By the time she had finished, Anne was conscious of feeling as though neither she, nor any body else, had ever said any thing more riveting. It was an unfamiliar and very pleasant sensation, and she found herself regarding the Harts much more warmly than a daughter of Sir Lewis de Bourgh really ought to regard the offspring of a physician.

She recalled herself, however, when Mrs. Jenkinson returned, bearing the promised cup of mineral water. "I do apologize most sincerely, Miss de Bourgh," the nurse said contritely; "there was a terrible crush at the pump." She eyed Miss de Bourgh's acquaintances very coolly. Anne took the proferred water and, sensing Mrs. Jenkinson's disapproval, made no move to introduce the parties—she was herself quite embarrassed, for if Mrs. Jenkinson thought it improper for her to be conversing with Dr. Hart's children in such a familiar manner, one could only guess what every body else in the room must think. Mrs. Jenkinson turned back to her mistress after a long pause.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam has only just arrived, ma'am," she said meaningfully, "and would be very glad of your company, I am sure. He will doubtless pass on his fondest greetings to your mother Lady Catherine, for whom he has such a very proper esteem." This last seemed to be intended more for the Harts than for Miss Anne, who was concerned only with the news of Colonel Fitzwilliam's arrival. She bade Miss Hart and her brothers a suitably distant good-bye, expressing her kind compliments to Dr. Hart, and receiving their own wishes that she might enjoy Bath very much indeed, before rising to join the promenade again.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was not difficult to locate, being both tall and dressed in his uniform, as he walked up and down the room in the company of an exceedingly handsome young lady who was unfamiliar to Anne. He met his cousin very amiably, declared his surprise and delight at finding her in the Pump Room, repeated his thanks for the pleasant evening he had spent at the Royal Crescent only the night before, and introduced his companion as a Miss Finch (Miss Anne had never heard of the young lady's family, and privately dismissed her as no-body of consequence). The three of them spent a very pleasant quarter-hour promenading the room. Anne found herself quite shy at first, yet slowly the ease with which she had managed to attain the previous evening returned, and she was able to maintain her side of the conversation without much awkwardness, though she was hardly vivacious.

To Anne's great surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam was acquainted with Mr. Theodore Hart; this was discovered when Anne's party passed quite close to Mr. Hart and the twins as they made their way up and down the room. The gentlemen greeted each other with a friendliness that Anne found quite shocking, given their relative families and positions in the world, and spoke for some moments; Miss Finch, and Anne herself, were included in this greeting, though without the same familiarity. Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne noticed, looked rather thunderstruck. Yet Anne was quite daring enough to remark, as the two parties separated again:

"I had not realized you were acquainted with Mr. Hart."

"I had not realized you were acquainted with Mr. Hart, my dear cousin," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, smiling; "Her Ladyship said only that you were a patient of his father's."

"I am not well acquainted with him," Anne replied stiffly. "Today is only the second time we have met; I was introduced to him, and to his sister, when I paid my visit to Dr. Hart this past Tuesday."

"I met him in much the same way; Dr. Hart is well-respected here, and most of the gentlemen in the regiment have been seen by him at one time or another, and formed an acquaintance with his family. Hart is a very decent sort of fellow—I believe he is studying for the law, though I may be mistaken."

"Miss Rosamond is a charming little creature," Miss Finch put in, not to be left out of the exchange, "though of course her elder sister is the true beauty of the family."

Neither Colonel Fitzwilliam nor Anne could add anything to Miss Finch's remark, and the conversation soon passed on to other matters.


It was a well contented Anne de Bourgh who left the Grand Pump Room that afternoon. Her newfound comfort in conversation with her cousin was exceedingly agreeable to her, for she had never, on the Colonel's previous visits to Rosings Park in the company of Mr. Darcy, found him so pleasant and effortless to talk to. Almost as agreeable was the unexpected ease she had found in conversing with the Harts—for Colonel Fitzwilliam's friendship with Mr. Hart rather improved Anne's consideration of her own conduct in affording that family some little notice, and she could not help thinking that Mrs. Jenkinson's disapproval and coolness towards them was more than was strictly warranted. Indeed, no sooner had they climbed into the barouchet than that lady let fall her opinions of the afternoon:

"I was very surprised, Miss de Bourgh," she began woodenly, "to find you in the company of those specific acquaintances whose conduct towards you has never been any thing but reprehensible; for surely you remember, ma'am, how ill-treated you were at Hart House, and how neither Dr. Hart nor his family seemed to have the least respect for your rank or elevated family position."

Anne bristled. As a young lady of rank and elevated family position, she was unaccustomed to criticism of any sort from any body except her own mother, and Mrs. Jenkinson's presumption seemed to her quite as reprehensible as anything that had occurred at Hart House.

"You will recall, Mrs. Jenkinson," she said coldly, "that Lady Catherine approves of Dr. Hart enough to make him my regular physician here in Bath; I am sure you would not wish to disagree with her. And furthermore," she went on, over the lady's hasty objections, "as I am a patient of Dr. Hart, it would be most proper for me to be on civil terms with his family, as I shall no doubt be seeing them rather often."

"I certainly do not mean to criticize Lady Catherine's judgment, nor your own, Miss de Bourgh," Mrs. Jenkinson said contritely. "Yet I feel it is my duty, as one who has a true admiration for the titled classes, to remind you that civility is quite generous enough; the Harts are hardly suitable for any further intimacy."

"I assure you," Miss de Bourgh scorned, "I shall never call any of the Hart family my 'intimate friends'."

She sank back into the pillows, rather weared by this forceful exertion of her will; she wondered if her mother had ever felt drained after making one of her proclamations. There was certainly some truth in Mrs. Jenkinson's words, and Anne thought privately that she should be more careful, in her further dealings with the family, to remain as aloof as possible.

Yet she could not be entirely dissatisfied with the afternoon, and that night, as she drifted off to sleep, Anne could not help reflecting that the Pump Room really was a much pleasanter place when one had someone to share it with, whether that someone was a Hart or a Fitzwilliam.