door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to anyone else.

Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great

delight.
When tea was over Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the

card-table—but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr.

Darcy did not wish for cards, and Mr. Hurst soon found even his open

petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and the

silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr.

Hurst had, therefore, nothing to do but to stretch himself on one of the

sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book. Miss Bingley did the same;

and Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and

rings, joined now and then in her brother’s conversation with Miss

Bennet.
Miss Bingley’s attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr.

Darcy’s progress through his book, as in reading her own; and she was

perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. She

could not win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered her

question and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be

amused with her own book, which she{71} had only chosen because it was the

second volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it

is to spend an evening in this way! I declare, after all, there is no

enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a

book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not

an excellent library.”
No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and

cast her eyes round the room in quest of some amusement; when, hearing

her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly

towards him and said,—
“By the bye Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at

Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult

the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not