“Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of

my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong

understanding to ridicule.”
“Such as vanity and pride.”
“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a real

superiority of mind—pride will be always under good regulation.{74}”
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
“Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss Bingley;

“and pray what is the result?”
“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it

himself without disguise.”
“No,” said Darcy, “I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough,

but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch

for. It is, I believe, too little yielding; certainly too little for the

convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of

others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My

feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper

would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost for

ever.”
“That is a failing, indeed!” cried Elizabeth. “Implacable resentment

is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I

really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me.”
“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular

evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.”
“And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.”
“And yours,” he replied, with a smile, “is wilfully to misunderstand

them.”
“Do let us have a little music,” cried Miss Bingley, tired of a

conversation in which she had no share. “Louisa, you will not mind my

waking Mr. Hurst.”
Her sister made not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was

opened; and Darcy, after a few moments’ recollection, was not sorry for

it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.{75}

CHAPTER XII.