she had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst

thought the same, and added,—
“She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent

walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really

looked almost wild.”
“She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very

nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the

country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowzy!{47}”
“Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep

in mud, I am absolutely certain, and the gown which had been let down to

hide it not doing its office.”
“Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,” said Bingley; “but this was

all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well

when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite

escaped my notice.”
“You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley; “and I am

inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such

an exhibition.”
“Certainly not.”
“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is,

above her ancles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by

it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence,

a most country-town indifference to decorum.”
“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said

Bingley.
“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,” observed Miss Bingley, in a half whisper,

“that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine

eyes.”
“Not at all,” he replied: “they were brightened by the exercise.” A

short pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again,—
“I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet,—she is really a very sweet

girl,—and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such

a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no

chance of it.”
“I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in

Meryton?{48}”