"No," said Darcy, "I have made no such pretension. I have
faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding.
My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little
yielding--certainly too little for the convenience of the world.
I cannot forget the follies and vices of other so soon as I ought,
nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed
about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be
called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever."
"That is a failing indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Implacable
resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your
fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me."
"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some
particular evil--a natural defect, which not even the best
education can overcome."
"And your defect is to hate everybody."
"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to
"Do let us have a little music," cried Miss Bingley, tired of a
conversation in which she had no share. "Louisa, you will not
mind my waking Mr. Hurst?"