``I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. -- We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.''

``What think you of books?'' said he, smiling.

``Books -- Oh! no. -- I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.''

``I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. -- We may compare our different opinions.''

``No -- I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.''

``The present always occupies you in such scenes -- does it?'' said he, with a look of doubt.

``Yes, always,'' she replied, without knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming,

``I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created.''

``I am,'' said he, with a firm voice.

``And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?''

``I hope not.''

``It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.''

``May I ask to what these questions tend?''

``Merely to the illustration of your character,'' said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. ``I am trying to make it out.''

``And what is your success?''

She shook her head. ``I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.''

``I can readily believe,'' answered he gravely, ``that report may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.''

``But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.''

``I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,'' he coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.

They had not long separated when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain thus accosted her,

``So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham! -- Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions; and I find that the young man forgot to tell you, among his other communications, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as


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