Mr. Bennet had gotten a letter, informing him of an addition for the coming days. Mr. Collins, the cousin.

He was to inherit. Everything. And he had to find a wife, so one of the Bennet girls must be an acceptable woman.

He arrived for dinner. He was already talking about something pretentious, you weren’t paying attention. “These are the kind of little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to the ladies and which I conceive myself particularly bound to pay.”

Mr. Collins glanced over at Jane as he had finished. Mr. Bennet then sarcastically commented. “How happy for you, Mr. Collins, to possess the talent for flattering with such delicacy.” He hid his face behind his glass.