Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice (1813)

CHAPTER I.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a
good fortune must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first
entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the
surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some
one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that
Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told
me all about it.”

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

“Do not you want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife, impatiently.

“_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

]

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a
young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on
Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with
it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession
before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the
end of next week.”

“What is his name?”

“Bingley.”

“Is he married or single?”

“Oh, single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or
five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”

“How so? how can it affect them?”

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome? You
must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.”

“Is that his design in settling here?”

“Design? Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he _may_
fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as
he comes.”

“I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go—or you may send them
by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for as you are as
handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party.”

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but I
do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five
grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.”

“In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.”

“But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the
neighbourhood.”

“It is more than I engage for, I assure you.”

“But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be
for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on
that account; for in general, you know, they visit no new comers. Indeed you
must go, for it will be impossible for _us_ to visit him, if you do not.”

“You are over scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad
to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty
consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls—though I must
throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.”

“I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the
others: and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-
humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving _her_ the preference.”

“They have none of them much to recommend them,” replied he: “they are all
silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of
quickness than her sisters.”

“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take
delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my
old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty
years at least.”

“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”

“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four
thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.”

“It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not
visit them.”

“Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them
all.”

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve,
and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been
insufficient to make his wife understand his character. _Her_ mind was less
difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding, little
information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied
herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married:
its solace was visiting and news.

]

]

CHAPTER II.

Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He had
always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his wife
that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid she had
no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing
his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed her
with,—

“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”

“We are not in a way to know _what_ Mr. Bingley likes,” said her mother,
resentfully, “since we are not to visit.”

“But you forget, mamma,” said Elizabeth, “that we shall meet him at the
assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.”

“I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of
her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of
her.”

“No more have I,” said Mr. Bennet; “and I am glad to find that you do not
depend on her serving you.”

Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but, unable to contain herself,
began scolding one of her daughters.

“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion
on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”

“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times them
ill.”

“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty, fretfully. “When is
your next ball to be, Lizzy?”

“To-morrow fortnight.”

“Ay, so it is,” cried her mother, “and Mrs. Long does not come back till the
day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will
not know him herself.”

“Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr.
Bingley to _her_.”

“Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him
myself; how can you be so teasing?”

“I honour your circumspection. A fortnight’s acquaintance is certainly very
little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But
if _we_ do not venture, somebody else will; and after all, Mrs. Long and her
nieces must stand their chance; and, therefore, as she will think it an act
of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself.”

The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, “Nonsense,
nonsense!”

“What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?” cried he. “Do you
consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as
nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you _there_. What say you, Mary? For you
are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read great books, and make
extracts.”

Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.

“While Mary is adjusting her ideas,” he continued, “let us return to Mr.
Bingley.”

“I am sick of Mr. Bingley,” cried his wife.

“I am sorry to hear _that_; but why did you not tell me so before? If I had
known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is
very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the
acquaintance now.”

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished—that of Mrs. Bennet
perhaps surpassing the rest; though when the first tumult of joy was over,
she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while.

“How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should persuade
you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to neglect such an
acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! And it is such a good joke, too, that
you should have gone this morning, and never said a word about it till now.”

“Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose,” said Mr. Bennet; and, as
he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.

“What an excellent father you have, girls,” said she, when the door was
shut. “I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or
me either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so pleasant, I
can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but for your sakes
we would do anything. Lydia, my love, though you _are_ the youngest, I dare
say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”

“Oh,” said Lydia, stoutly, “I am not afraid; for though I _am_ the youngest,
I’m the tallest.”

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return
Mr. Bennet’s visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.

CHAPTER III.

Not all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five
daughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her husband
any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him in various
ways, with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant
surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at last obliged
to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour, Lady Lucas. Her
report was highly favourable. Sir William had been delighted with him. He
was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown
the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing
could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards
falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Bingley’s heart were
entertained.

“If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,” said
Mrs. Bennet to her husband, “and all the others equally well married, I
shall have nothing to wish for.”

In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet’s visit, and sat about ten
minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being admitted
to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he
saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had
the advantage of ascertaining, from an upper window, that he wore a blue
coat and rode a black horse.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards despatched; and already had Mrs.
Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when
an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in
town the following day, and consequently unable to accept the honour of
their invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcerted. She could not
imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in
Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that he might always be flying about
from one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he ought to
be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his

]

being gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report
soon followed that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven
gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of
ladies; but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing that, instead
of twelve, he had brought only six with him from London, his five sisters
and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly-room, it consisted of
only five altogether: Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the
eldest, and another young man.

Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike: he had a pleasant
countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with
an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the
gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by
his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report, which
was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his
having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure
of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he
was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his
manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was
discovered to be proud, to be above his company, and above being pleased;
and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could save him from having a most
forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with
his friend.

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people
in the room: he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry
that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at
Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a
contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs.
Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other
lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking
occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the
proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he
would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs.
Bennet, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular
resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.

Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit down
for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing
near enough for her to overhear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley,
who came from the dance for a few minutes to press his friend to join it.

“Come, Darcy,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing
about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly
acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be
insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in
the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Bingley, “for a kingdom!
Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have
this evening; and there are several of them, you see, uncommonly pretty.”

“_You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr. Darcy,
looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.

“Oh, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of
her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say
very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

]

“Which do you mean?” and turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth,
till, catching her eye, he withdrew his own, and coldly said, “She is
tolerable: but not handsome enough to tempt _me_; and I am in no humour at
present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.
You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are
wasting your time with me.”

Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth
remained with no very cordial feelings towards him. She told the story,
however, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively, playful
disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs.
Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party.
Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished by his
sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could be, though
in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane’s pleasure. Mary had heard herself
mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the
neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate enough to be never
without partners, which was all that they had yet learnt to care for at a
ball. They returned, therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn, the village
where they lived, and of which they were the principal inhabitants. They
found Mr. Bennet still up. With a book, he was regardless of time; and on
the present occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the event of an
evening which had raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped
that all his wife’s views on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon
found that he had a very different story to hear.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet,” as she entered the room, “we have had a most
delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane
was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she
looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her
twice. Only think of _that_, my dear: he actually danced with her twice; and
she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of
all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her; but,
however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know; and he
seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he
inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next.
Then, the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria
Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and
the _Boulanger_——”

“If he had had any compassion for _me_,” cried her husband impatiently, “he
would not have danced half so much! For God’s sake, say no more of his
partners. O that he had sprained his ancle in the first dance!”

“Oh, my dear,” continued Mrs. Bennet, “I am quite delighted with him. He is
so excessively handsome! and his sisters are charming women. I never in my
life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon
Mrs. Hurst’s gown——”

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any description
of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject,
and related, with much bitterness of spirit, and some exaggeration, the
shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.

“But I can assure you,” she added, “that Lizzy does not lose much by not
suiting _his_ fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all
worth pleasing. So high and so conceited, that there was no enduring him! He
walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not
handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to have
given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man.”

CHAPTER IV.

When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her
praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she
admired him.

“He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she, “sensible, good-
humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! so much ease, with
such perfect good breeding!”

“He is also handsome,” replied Elizabeth, “which a young man ought likewise
to be if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.”

“I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did
not expect such a compliment.”

“Did not you? _I_ did for you. But that is one great difference between us.
Compliments always take _you_ by surprise, and _me_ never. What could be
more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you
were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks
to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give
you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.”

“Dear Lizzy!”

“Oh, you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You
never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable in your
eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life.”

“I would wish not to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak what I
think.”

“I know you do: and it is _that_ which makes the wonder. With _your_ good
sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others!
Affectation of candour is common enough; one meets with it everywhere. But
to be candid without ostentation or design,—to take the good of everybody’s
character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad,—belongs to
you alone. And so, you like this man’s sisters, too, do you? Their manners
are not equal to his.”

“Certainly not, at first; but they are very pleasing women when you converse
with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep his house; and
I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her.”

Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced: their behaviour at the
assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more
quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and
with a judgment, too, unassailed by any attention to herself, she was very
little disposed to approve them. They were, in fact, very fine ladies; not
deficient in good-humour when they were pleased, nor in the power of being
agreeable where they chose it; but proud and conceited. They were rather
handsome; had been educated in one of the first private seminaries in town;
had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds; were in the habit of spending more
than they ought, and of associating with people of rank; and were,
therefore, in every respect entitled to think well of themselves and meanly
of others. They were of a respectable family in the north of England; a
circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories than that their
brother’s fortune and their own had been acquired by trade.

Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred thousand
pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate, but did not
live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and sometimes made choice
of his county; but, as he was now provided with a good house and the liberty
of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those who best knew the easiness of
his temper, whether he might not spend the remainder of his days at
Netherfield, and leave the next generation to purchase.

His sisters were very anxious for his having an estate of his own; but
though he was now established only as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means
unwilling to preside at his table; nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man
of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider his house as her
home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years when he
was tempted, by an accidental recommendation, to look at Netherfield House.
He did look at it, and into it, for half an hour; was pleased with the
situation and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its
praise, and took it immediately.

Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a
great opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the
easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition could
offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never
appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy’s regard, Bingley had the
firmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In understanding,
Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient; but Darcy was
clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious; and his
manners, though well bred, were not inviting. In that respect his friend had
greatly the advantage. Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared;
Darcy was continually giving offence.

The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently
characteristic. Bingley had never met with pleasanter people or prettier
girls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive to him; there
had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted with all
the room; and as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel more
beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people in whom
there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had felt the
smallest interest, and from none received either attention or pleasure. Miss
Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty; but she smiled too much.

Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so; but still they admired her
and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom they
should not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore established as
a sweet girl; and their brother felt authorized by such commendation to
think of her as he chose.

]

CHAPTER V.

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were
particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in
Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the honour of
knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty. The distinction
had, perhaps, been felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his
business and to his residence in a small market town; and, quitting them
both, he had removed with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton,
denominated from that period Lucas Lodge; where he could think with pleasure
of his own importance, and, unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in
being civil to all the world. For, though elated by his rank, it did not
render him supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody.
By nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his presentation at St.
James’s had made him courteous.

Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable
neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The eldest of them, a
sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth’s
intimate friend.

That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball
was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly brought the
former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.

“_You_ began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet, with civil
self-command, to Miss Lucas. “_You_ were Mr. Bingley’s first choice.”

“Yes; but he seemed to like his second better.”

“Oh, you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be sure
that _did_ seem as if he admired her—indeed, I rather believe he _did_—I
heard something about it—but I hardly know what—something about Mr.
Robinson.”

“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson: did not I
mention it to you? Mr. Robinson’s asking him how he liked our Meryton
assemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty
women in the room, and _which_ he thought the prettiest? and his answering
immediately to the last question, ‘Oh, the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a
doubt: there cannot be two opinions on that point.’”

“Upon my word! Well, that was very decided, indeed—that does seem as if—but,
however, it may all come to nothing, you know.”

“_My_ overhearings were more to the purpose than _yours_, Eliza,” said
Charlotte. “Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend, is
he? Poor Eliza! to be only just _tolerable_.”

“I beg you will not put it into Lizzy’s head to 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.”

“Ay, because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could
not help answering her; but she said he seemed very angry at being spoke
to.”

“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much unless among
his intimate acquaintance. 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 to 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 or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words
are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride
relates more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity to what we would have
others think of us.”

“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came with his
sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of
foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.”

“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” said Mrs. Bennet;
“and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly.”

The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she
would; and the argument ended only with the visit.
