herself, began scolding one of her daughters.
“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven’s sake! Have a little

compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”
“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times

them ill.”
“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty, fretfully. “When

is your next ball to be, Lizzy?”
“To-morrow fortnight.”
“Ay, so it is,” cried her mother, “and Mrs. Long does not come back till

the day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for

she will not know him herself.”
“Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce

Mr. Bingley to her.”
“Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him

myself; how can you be so teasing?”
“I honour your circumspection. A fortnight’s acquaintance is certainly

very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a

fortnight. But if we do not venture, somebody else will; and after

all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and, therefore,{8}

as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I

will take it on myself.”
The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, “Nonsense,

nonsense!”
“What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?” cried he. “Do

you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on

them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you there. What say you,

Mary? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read

great books, and make extracts.”
Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.
“While Mary is adjusting her ideas,” he continued, “let us return to Mr.

Bingley.”
“I am sick of Mr. Bingley,” cried his wife.
“I am sorry to hear that; but why did you not tell me so before? If I

had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on

him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we

cannot escape the acquaintance now.”