Chapter 5

WITHIN a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the honour of knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty. The distinction had, perhaps, been felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business and to his residence in a small market town; and, quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge; where he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For, though elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody. By nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his presentation at St. James’s had made him courteous.

A family especially close to the Bennets lived a short walk from Longbourn. Sir William Lucas had once run a business in Meryton, where he had made a respectable fortune. While serving as mayor, he had also earned a knighthood by delivering a formal address to the king. Perhaps he had thought rather too much of the honour. His knighthood had made him dislike both his business and living in a small market town. So he had left both behind and moved his family to a house about a mile from Meryton. From then on, the house was called Lucas Lodge. There he could reflect with pleasure on his own importance. Free from business, he could devote himself entirely to being polite to everyone. For although his rank made him proud, he did not look down on others. On the contrary, he was attentive to everybody. He was naturally harmless, friendly, and helpful, and being presented at St. James’s had made him courteous.

Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth’s intimate friend.

Lady Lucas was a very kind woman, not too clever to be a useful neighbor to Mrs. Bennet. The Lucases had several children. Their eldest was a sensible, intelligent young woman of about twenty-seven. She was Elizabeth’s close friend.

That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.

The Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets absolutely had to meet to talk over the ball. So the next morning, the Miss Lucases came to Longbourn to hear the news and share their own.

“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet, with civil self-command, to Miss Lucas. “You were Mr. Bingley’s first choice.”

“You started the evening well, Charlotte,” Mrs. Bennet said to Miss Lucas, keeping her tone polite. “You were Mr. Bingley’s first choice.”

“Yes; but he seemed to like his second better.”

“Yes, but he seemed to like his second better.”

“Oh, you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if he admired her—indeed, I rather believe he did—I heard something about it—but I hardly know what—something about Mr. Robinson.”

“Oh, you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. Of course, dancing with her twice did seem as if he admired her. In fact, I rather think he did. I heard something about it, but I hardly know what. Something about Mr. Robinson.”

“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson: did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson’s asking him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty women in the room, and which he thought the prettiest? and his answering immediately to the last question, ‘Oh, the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt: there cannot be two opinions on that point.’”

“Perhaps you mean the conversation I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson. Didn’t I tell you about it? Mr. Robinson asked him how he liked our Meryton dances. He also asked whether he thought there were a great many pretty women in the room, and which he thought prettiest. He immediately answered the last question, ‘Oh, the eldest Miss Bennet, without a doubt. No one could disagree on that point.’”

“Upon my word! Well, that was very decided, indeed—that does seem as if—but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know.”

“Honestly! Well, that was very definite indeed. That does seem as if... But still, it may all come to nothing, you know.”

“My overhearings were more to the purpose than yours, Eliza,” said Charlotte. “Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend, is he? Poor Eliza! to be only just tolerable.”

“My overheard conversation was more useful than yours, Eliza,” said Charlotte. “Mr. Darcy isn’t as worth listening to as his friend, is he? Poor Eliza! To be only just tolerable.”

“I beg you will not put it into Lizzy’s head to be vexed by his ill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close to her for half an hour without once opening his lips.”

“Please don’t give Lizzy the idea that she should be upset by his poor treatment of her. He’s so unpleasant that being liked by him would be a real misfortune. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat right beside her for half an hour without saying a word.”

“Are you quite sure, ma’am? Is not there a little mistake?” said Jane. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”

“Are you quite sure, ma’am? Could there be a small mistake?” said Jane. “I definitely saw Mr. Darcy talking to her.”

“Ay, because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering her; but she said he seemed very angry at being spoke to.”

“Yes, because she finally asked him how he liked Netherfield, and he had to answer her. But she said he seemed very angry that she had spoken to him.”

“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much unless among his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”

“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never talks much unless he’s with close friends. With them he is remarkably pleasant.”

“I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had to come to the ball in a hack chaise.”

“I don’t believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so pleasant, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess what happened. Everyone says he’s full of pride. And I dare say he had somehow heard that Mrs. Long doesn’t own a carriage. He must have heard she had to come to the ball in a hired carriage.”

“I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,” said Miss Lucas, “but I wish he had danced with Eliza.”

“I don’t mind that he didn’t talk to Mrs. Long,” said Miss Lucas. “But I wish he had danced with Eliza.”

“Another time, Lizzy,” said her mother, “I would not dance with him, if I were you.”

“Next time, Lizzy,” her mother said, “I wouldn’t dance with him if I were you.”

“I believe, ma’am, I may safely promise you never to dance with him.”

“I think, ma’am, I can safely promise you that I’ll never dance with him.”

“His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud.”

“His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not bother me as much as pride often does, because he has reason for it. No one can be surprised that such a fine young man should think highly of himself. He has family, wealth, and everything else in his favor. If I may put it this way, he has a right to be proud.”

“That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”

“That’s very true,” Elizabeth replied. “And I could easily forgive his pride if he hadn’t hurt mine.”

“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves; vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

“Pride,” said Mary, who prided herself on her thoughtful insights, “is a very common fault, I believe. Everything I have ever read convinces me that pride is very common indeed. Human nature is especially prone to pride. Very few of us lack a feeling of self-satisfaction about some quality we have, real or imagined. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used to mean the same thing. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride has more to do with what we think of ourselves. Vanity has more to do with what we want others to think of us.”

“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.”

“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy, I wouldn't care how proud I was,” exclaimed a young Lucas. He had come with his sisters. “I'd keep a pack of foxhounds and drink a bottle of wine every day.”

“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” said Mrs. Bennet; “and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly.”

“Then you’d drink far more than you should,” said Mrs. Bennet. “And if I saw you doing that, I’d take your bottle away immediately.”

The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would; and the argument ended only with the visit.

The boy insisted that she should not, but she kept insisting that she would. The argument ended only when the visit ended.