assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think

Charlotte so very plain; but then she is our particular friend.”
“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” said Bingley.
“Oh dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself

has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not like to boast

of my own child; but to be sure, Jane—one does not often see anybody

better looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own

partiality. When she was only fifteen there was a gentleman at my

brother Gardiner’s in town so much in love with her, that my

sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away.

But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he

wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.{58}”
“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth, impatiently. “There has

been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first

discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”
“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Darcy.
“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is

strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I

am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”
Darcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made Elizabeth

tremble lest her mother should be exposing herself again. She longed to

speak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence Mrs.

Bennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to

Jane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was

unaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be

civil also, and say what the occasion required. She performed her part,

indeed, without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and

soon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the youngest of

her daughters put herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to