me, because it would be imprudent; and now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary.''
``If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think.''
``She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her.''
``But he paid her not the smallest attention, till her grandfather's death made her mistress of this fortune.''
``No -- why should he? If it was not allowable for him to gain my affections, because I had no money, what occasion could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally poor?''
``But there seems indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her, so soon after this event.''
``A man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant decorums which other people may observe. If she does not object to it, why should we?''
``Her not objecting, does not justify him. It only shews her being deficient in something herself -- sense or feeling.''
``Well,'' cried Elizabeth, ``have it as you choose. He shall be mercenary, and she shall be foolish.''
``No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry, you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.''
``Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! I am going to-morrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.''
``Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours strongly of disappointment.''
Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer.
``We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us,'' said Mrs. Gardiner, ``but perhaps to the Lakes.''
No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. ``My dear, dear aunt,'' she rapturously cried, ``what delight! what felicity! You give me fresh life and vigour. Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are men to rocks and mountains? Oh! what hours of transport we shall spend! And when we do return, it shall not be like other travellers, without being able to give one accurate idea of any thing. We will know where we have gone -- we will recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations; nor, when we attempt to describe any particular scene, will we begin quarrelling about its relative situation. Let our first effusions be less insupportable than those of the generality of travellers.''
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