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himself. As to his real character, had information been in her

power, she had never felt a wish of inquiring. His countenance,

voice, and manner, had established him at once in the possession

of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of

goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence,

that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least,

by the predominance of virtue, atone for those casual errors,

under which she would endeavour to class what Mr. Darcy had

described as the idleness and vice of many years' continuance.

But no such recollection befriended her. She could see him

instantly before her, in every charm of air and address, but she

could remember no more substantial good than the general

approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which his social

powers had gained him in the mess. After pausing on this point a

considerable while, she once more continued to read. But, alas!