In the gallery there were many family portraits,but they could have little to fix the attention of a stranger.Elizabeth walked in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her.At last it arrested her―and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy,with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her.She stood several minutes before the picture,in earnest contemplation,and returned to it again before they quitted the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his father's lifetime.
As they walked across the lawn towards the river, Elizabeth turned back to look again;her uncle and aunt stopped also,and while the former was conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it himself suddenly came forward from the road, which led behind it to the stables.
“He is the best landlord,and the best master,”said she,“that ever lived; not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves.There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name. Some people call him proud;but I am sure I never saw anything of it.To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men.”
On reaching the spacious lobby above they were shown into a very pretty sitting-room,lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness than the apartments below;and were informed that it was but just done to give pleasure to Miss Darcy,who had taken a liking to the room when last at Pemberley.