said Louisa.
‘Or vulgar,’ said Caroline.‘And the youngest girl! Begging for a ball. I cannot believe you encouraged her,
Charles.’
‘But I like giving balls,’ protested Bingley.
‘You should not have rewarded her impertinence,’ said
Louisa.
‘No, indeed. You will only make her worse. Though
how she could become any worse I do not know. Kitty
was dreadful enough, but the youngest girl – what was
her name?’
‘Lydia,’ supplied Louisa.
‘Lydia! Of course, that was it! To be so forward. You
would not like your sister to be so forward, I am persuaded, Mr Darcy.’
‘No, I would not,’ I said, ill pleased.
To compare Georgiana to such a girl was beyond anything I could tolerate.
‘And yet they are the same age,’ went on Caroline. ‘It
is incredible how two girls can be so different, the one so
elegant and refined, and the other so brash and noisy.’
‘It is their upbringing,’ said Louisa. ‘With such a low
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mother, how could Lydia be anything but vulgar?’
‘Those poor girls,’ said Caroline, shaking her head.
‘They are all touched with the same vulgarity, I fear.’
‘Not Miss Bennet!’ protested Bingley. ‘You said yourself she was a sweet girl.’
‘And so she is. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps she has
escaped the taint of mixing with such people. But Elizabeth Bennet is inclined to be pert, even though she does
have fine eyes,’ said Caroline, turning her gaze towards
me.
I had been about to dismiss Elizabeth from my
thoughts, but I changed my mind. I will not do so to
please Miss Bingley, however satirical she may be.
In the evening, Elizabeth joined us in the drawingroom. I took care to say no more than a brief, ‘Good
evening’, and then I took up a pen and began writing to
Georgiana. Elizabeth, I noticed, took up some needlework at the far side of the room.
I had hardly begun my letter, however, when Caroline
began to compliment me on the evenness of my handwriting and the length of my letter. I did my best to
ignore her, but she was not to be dissuaded and continued to praise me at every turn. Flattery is all very well,
but a man may tire of it as soon as curses. I said nothing,
however, as I did not wish to offend Bingley.
‘How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a
letter!’ Caroline said.
I ignored her.
‘You write uncommonly fast.’
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I was unwise enough to retaliate with, ‘You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.’
‘Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.’
‘I have already told her so once, by your desire.’
‘How can you contrive to write so even?’ she asked.
I swallowed my frustration and resumed my silence. A
wet evening in the country is one of the worst evils I
know, especially in restricted company, and if I replied I
feared I would be rude.
‘Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp…’
Pray, whose letter is it? I nearly retorted, but stopped
myself just in time.
‘. . . and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures
with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it
infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.’
‘Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write
again? At present I have not room to do them justice.’
I saw Elizabeth smile at this, and bury her head in her
needlework. She smiles readily, and I am beginning to
find it infectious. I was almost tempted to smile myself.
Caroline, however, was not to be quelled.
‘Do you always write such charming long letters to
her, Mr Darcy?’
‘They are generally long,’ I replied, not being able to
avoid answering her question. ‘But whether always
charming, it is not for me to determine.’
‘It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a
long letter, with ease, cannot write ill,’ she said.
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‘That will not do for a compliment to Darcy,’ broke in
Bingley,‘because he does not write with ease. He studies
too much for words of four syllables. Do you not,
Darcy?’
‘My style of writing is very different from yours,’ I
agreed.
‘My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to
express them, by which means my letters sometimes
convey no ideas at all to my correspondents,’ said Bingley.
‘Your humility must disarm reproof,’ said Elizabeth,
laying her needlework aside.
‘Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of
humility,’ I said, laughing at Bingley’s comments, but
underneath I was conscious of a slight irritation that she
was praising him.‘It is often only carelessness of opinion,
and sometimes an indirect boast.’
‘And which of the two do you call my little recent
piece of modesty?’ asked Bingley.
‘The indirect boast,’ I said with a smile.‘The power of
doing anything with quickness is always much prized by
the possessor, and often without any attention to the
imperfection of performance. When you told Mrs Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting
Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you
meant it to be a sort of compliment to yourself, but I am
by no means convinced. If, as you were mounting your
horse, a friend were to say, “Bingley, you had better stay
till next week,” you would probably do it.’
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‘You have only proved by this that Mr Bingley did not
do justice to his own disposition.You have shown him off
now much more than he did himself,’ said Elizabeth with
a laugh.
‘I am exceedingly gratified by your converting what
my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my
temper,’ said Bingley merrily.
I smiled, but I was not so gratified, though why this
should be I do not know. I am sure I like Bingley very
well, and I am always pleased when other people value
him, too.
‘But Darcy would think the better of me, if under
such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride
off as fast
