“Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of,” cried Colonel

Fitzwilliam. “I should like to know how he behaves among strangers.”
“You shall hear, then—but prepare for something very{219} dreadful. The

first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at

a ball—and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four

dances! I am sorry to pain you, but so it was. He danced only four

dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, more

than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner. Mr. Darcy,

you cannot deny the fact.”
“I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly

beyond my own party.”
“True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball-room. Well, Colonel

Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders.”
“Perhaps,” said Darcy, “I should have judged better had I sought an

introduction, but I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers.”
“Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?” said Elizabeth, still

addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Shall we ask him why a man of sense and

education, and who has lived in the world, is ill-qualified to recommend

himself to strangers?”
“I can answer your question,” said Fitzwilliam, “without applying to

him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble.”
“I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,” said Darcy,

“of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot

catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their

concerns, as I often see done.”
“My fingers,” said Elizabeth, “do not move over this instrument in the

masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. They have not the same

force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I

have{220} always supposed it to be my own fault—because I would not take

the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers

as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.”