be vexed by his ill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening his lips.” “Are you quite sure, ma'am?--is not there a little mistake?” said Jane. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.” “Aye--because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering her; but she said he seemed quite angry at being spoke to.” “Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate acquaintances. With _them_ he is remarkably agreeable.” “I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise.” “I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,” said Miss Lucas, “but I wish he had danced with Eliza.” “Another time, Lizzy,” said her mother, “I would not dance with _him_, if I were you.” “I believe, ma'am, I may safely promise you _never_ to dance with him.” “His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend _me_ so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a _right_ to be proud.” “That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily forgive _his_ pride, if he had not mortified _mine_.” “Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real