Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in

anything, and persevered, therefore, in requiring an explanation of his

two motives.
“I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,” said he, as soon

as she allowed him to speak. “You either choose this method of passing

the evening because you are in each other’s confidence, and have secret

affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures

appear to the greatest advantage in walking: if the first, I should be

completely in your way; and if the second, I can admire you much better

as I sit by the fire.”
“Oh, shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard{73} anything so

abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”
“Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,” said Elizabeth. “We

can all plague and punish one another. Tease him—laugh at him. Intimate

as you are, you must know how it is to be done.”
“But upon my honour I do not. I do assure you that my intimacy has not

yet taught me that. Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind! No,

no; I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose

ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr.

Darcy may hug himself.”
“Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “That is an

uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would

be a great loss to me to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a

laugh.”
“Miss Bingley,” said he, “has given me credit for more than can be. The

wisest and best of men,—nay, the wisest and best of their actions,—may

be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a

joke.”
“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth, “there are such people, but I hope I am

not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies

and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I

laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what

you are without.”