At some point in the early morning, I was conscious of the sound of horses, the carriage being brought round to drive Mr. Collins to the coach, but it was daylight when I stirred again, a beautiful morning, not like winter at all. Kitty opened the curtains and I woke to the feeling of sunlight warming my face through the glass. It was a while before I could rouse myself to get out of bed. It felt too good to lie daydreaming between the sheets. But rise I must, and did. Hill brought a jug of warm water and I splashed it everywhere as I washed and then skipped downstairs to a hearty breakfast of toast and ham and eggs and marmalade and two cups of coffee. I didn’t apologise to Mr. Collins, and he didn’t propose to Mary before he went. “I’ve been thinking,” I whispered to her while the others ate. “No one but you could be mad enough to want Mr. Collins. He will never marry. Then, when Father dies, you can stay and keep house for him.” “You are the one who is mad,” Mary said.
