first, was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it

would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk,{116}

she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again

silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time,

with—
“It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the

dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the

room, or the number of couples.”
He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be

said.
“Very well; that reply will do for the present. Perhaps, by-and-by, I

may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones; but

now we may be silent.”
“Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?”
“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be

entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet, for the advantage of

some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the

trouble of saying as little as possible.”
“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you

imagine that you are gratifying mine?”
“Both,” replied Elizabeth archly; “for I have always seen a great

similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial,

taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say

something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to

posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.”
“This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,”

said he. “How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You

think it a faithful portrait, undoubtedly.”
“I must not decide on my own performance.”
He made no answer; and they were again silent till they had gone down

the dance, when he asked her if she{117} and her sisters did not very often

walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative; and, unable to resist

the temptation, added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just