“Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps she is full young to be much

in company. But really, ma’am, I think it would be very hard upon

younger sisters that they should not have their share of society and

amusement, because the elder may not have the means or inclination to

marry early. The last born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth

as the first. And to be kept back on such a motive! I think it would

not be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of mind.”
“Upon my word,” said her Ladyship, “you give your opinion very decidedly

for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?”
“With three younger sisters grown up,” replied Elizabeth, smiling, “your

Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it.”
Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer;

and Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever

dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence.
“You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure,—therefore you need not

conceal your age.”
“I am not one-and-twenty.{208}”
When the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was over, the card tables

were placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat

down to quadrille; and as Miss De Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the

two girls had the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her

party. Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was

uttered that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson

expressed her fears of Miss De Bourgh’s being too hot or too cold, or

having too much or too little light. A great deal more passed at the

other table. Lady Catherine was generally speaking—stating the mistakes

of the three others, or relating some anecdote of herself. Mr. Collins

was employed in agreeing to everything her Ladyship said, thanking her

for every fish he won, and apologizing if he thought he won too many.

Sir William did not say much. He was storing his memory with anecdotes

and noble names.