Thursday was the most ordinary day of my life. I have not the slightest idea why I even bother chronicling it, as not a single notable thing happened. As per my usual custom, I arose early and broke my fast with my companion over porridge and eggs. As with most Thursdays, the Ross boy brought coal for our bin, and as he generally did, he carried quite a bit into the kitchen for our convenience. He was not supposed to do that, and had extracted a solemn oath not to tell his father from the both of us. Such diligence was well worth both our pastry and our silence, so our small conspiracy went on for another week. We swept the kitchen and tidied up the other principle rooms in the standard fashion, and then went about our other daily chores.

A bit later, as happened just about every day, I found my geese trying their very best to drive off Mr. Darcy with a lot of fluttering and honking, while my chickens attacked his boots. As usual, they were not having any more success than my efforts had produced.

I responded to the gentleman in the usual fashion, "Mr. Darcy, you seem to have gotten on the bad side of most of my poultry."

He replied, "Is that really true Elizabeth, or have you been training them in this task for weeks."

That actually brought a small smile from me, which was on the unusual side. As time went on, I found that I really understood Mr. Darcy less and less; or perhaps my well-established lack of understanding was being chipped away by exposure to the man. At the very least, he was very perplexing… as usual. On the other hand, I was not finding his presence as unacceptable as I had, so perhaps the day was not quite as unremarkable as I thought.

I had an impertinent remark on the tip of my tongue about how I had been quite successful at driving him from my company a year ago but seemed to have lost my skill… but then thought better of saying it. Instead, I said simply, "You seem a difficult man to bend to anybody's will, Mr. Darcy", but I gave him a small nod to remove any sting from the assertion, since he seemed amenable to humor.

He asked cordially if he could assist me with my poultry. I would usually have disdained any help because spreading the grain, was almost a pointless task, but it was one that I enjoyed for the sheer mindlessness of it, but then I thought better of it. He was being agreeable, so I could do the same. I pointed him to a small basket of tools in the corner and said, "If you care to repair that fence Mr. Darcy, I would appreciate it. Sergeant MacDonald planned to do it for me later in the day, but you can probably do it as well."

He walked over to the tools, came back suitably equipped and went to the task with apparent enthusiasm, while I carried on spreading my grain.

At length, I said, "Mr. Darcy, I do not know whether to apologize for my unseemly candor last night or not; but I assume since all I was doing was satisfying your curiosity, and since you have not taken your leave yet, you are not overly offended. I know you probably find my selfishness… indecorous, and I must thank you for holding whatever your thoughts on the matter might be."

I reflected that might be the most polite thing I had ever said to him.

He stood up from the neatly repaired fence; in fact, much better than the sergeant could do; and said, "May I ask you a question, Elizabeth?"

I said, "To the best of my knowledge, nothing has ever stopped you from asking any question you wanted to ask, so I assume that particular rhetorical question was mainly out of politeness. I do not object."

He said quite seriously, "Do you considered me a selfish person?"

I had to think on that for a bit, as I found I was quite incapable of prevaricating with the man. I had not the slightest idea why I could not lie to him or even shade the truth since his arrival in Kent; but had to admit that it was the case. I finally said, "I do not know."

I thought a bit more and said, "If you had asked me a year ago, I would have said you were without question. Even a week ago or perhaps as late as Tuesday I would have thought the same. Now… now… now, I do not know. Now, I think I will not presume to actually know you very well, and I find my previous opinions on many things to be… suspect. I prefer to have no opinion, since it is as likely to be wrong as right."

He nodded, and said, "Had I been well mannered and polite last year in Hertfordshire, engaged you in proper conversation, danced with the ladies, and then taken proper leave before I left; would you have then considered me selfish?"

I thought about that for a time, trying my best to be completely fair, and said, "No, I believe I would not. I objected to your behavior, what I thought as your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. Without that, you would have had very little impact on me, and I would have thought you no more selfish than any other rich man. My mother would have driven me insane, but you would be quite safe from my censure."

He nodded and said, "Before I come round to my main point, I must say that I do agree with you. I have been a selfish being all my life. My parents tried to teach me good principles, but their example of behavior had more effect than their words, and I have not even lived up to that standard."

I simply nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His previous selfishness was a point not worth beating to death.

He continued his point, saying, "Would you have considered me selfish for merely claiming my birthright to Pemberley, absent my bad behavior?"

I said, "Of course not! What a ridiculous question."

Now he looked like a wolf that had just spotted his prey, and said, "So will you please explain to me Elizabeth, in terms sufficiently simple for my meager understanding, why you think yourself selfish because you plan to claim your birthright and take care of your sisters? Or perhaps, it is the desire to raise a child well and insure their future. Is that the selfish part, because I am having a terribly difficult time finding you selfish in the least!"

Once again, the man had stunned me into silence. I was so used to my own thinking being the only thing I really listened to, that I had almost forgotten the art of looking at things from another perspective; or more likely, I had never acquired it in the first place. How much of my thinking was caused by me simply taking an idea into my head, and holding onto it stubbornly no matter the evidence against it? How would my life have been different if I had simply not allowed one ill‑humored remark to poison my entire association with a man who was actually unfailingly polite and engaging while I was at Netherfield taking care of Jane? Would I have found a valuable acquaintance if I had not been so stubborn, and tried to draw him out; a feat that was very well within my capabilities? What if I had taken that half hour in the library to get to know him? Was this quite amiable but strange man in front of me even available back then? Could I have reached him?

He waited patiently for me to think about his words, which probably took some time since they sent me into a frenzy of brooding about the past that could not be changed.

I finally said, "You make a good point, Mr. Darcy."

He said, "I will grant you that you mother is a selfish mercenary, but there is a vast difference between a desire to save a fine and venerable estate with a long history; and the desire to settle a daughter on some hapless gentleman regardless of what said or daughter or gentleman might need or desire. There is a vast difference between what you plan, and the arts and allurements many of the first circles practice; most of them indistinguishable from your mother. If you please, Elizabeth, I will hear no more of your supposed selfishness. You are the least selfish person I know, and I will not stand for you denigrating yourself in this fashion for another moment."

I had no idea how to respond to that. Mr. Darcy was acting much more like a true friend than… than… than whatever I thought him to be; even after all the conversations we had been through. Perhaps, I still did not know him at all.

At length, I said, "I thank you Mr. Darcy. There is wisdom in what you say, so I shall try to think better of myself."

He walked directly in front of me, looked at me quite carefully, and said, "If you think of yourself half as well as I think of you, I shall be satisfied."

To that, I had not the slightest hint of an idea how to respond.