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His belief of her sister's insensibility she instantly resolved

to be false; and his account of the real, the worst objections to

the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him

justice. He expressed no regret for what he had done which

satisfied her; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It was

all pride and insolence.

But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr.

Wickham--when she read, with somewhat clearer attention, a

relation of events which, if true, must overthrow every cherished

opinion of his worth, and which bore so alarming an affinity to

his own history of himself--her feelings were yet more acutely

painful and more difficult of definition. Astonishment,

apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished to

discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, "This must be

false! This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!"--and

when she had gone through the whole letter, though scarcely

knowing anything of the last page or two, put it hastily away,

protesting that she would not regard it, that she would never

look in it again.