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 manner 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 acquaintances. I dearly love a laugh.” “Miss Bingley,” said he, “has given me more credit than can be. The wisest and the 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 and 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.” “Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.” “Such as vanity and pride.” “Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride--where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.” Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile. “Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss Bingley; “and pray what is the result?” “I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise.” “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--certa