some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a

pleasure.”
“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he

chooses, before it begins; but as for the ball, it is quite a settled

thing, and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send

round my cards.”
“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied, “if they were

carried on in a different manner; but there is something insufferably

tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much

more rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the

day.”
“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say; but it would not be

near so much like a ball.”
Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards got up and walked about

the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well; but Darcy, at

whom it was{72} all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. In the

desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one effort more; and,

turning to Elizabeth, said,—
“Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a

turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so

long in one attitude.”
Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss Bingley

succeeded no less in the real object of her civility: Mr. Darcy looked

up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as

Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was

directly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing that

he could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down

the room together, with either of which motives his joining them would

interfere. What could he mean? She was dying to know what could be his

meaning—and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand him.
“Not at all,” was her answer; “but, depend upon it, he means to be

severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask

nothing about it.”