“Charles, you are too undiscriminating,” interrupted Miss Bingley. “I have never met people with less conversation and fashion or more conceit. As for the young ladies, they were certainly young but —”

“Come, Caroline, I cannot allow you to speak so of at least one young lady,” Bingley interrupted. He turned to Darcy, who had just risen from the table, cup and saucer in hand. “Darcy, support me in this! Was not Jane Bennet as lovely a girl as could be dreamt of?”

Darcy strolled over to a window while sipping at his tea and looked out onto a greensward hedged by boxwood and a gravel walk. The lack of accord between Bingley and his sisters was of long standing and had manifested itself in innumerable ways since his acquaintance with the family. Generally, Darcy’s sympathy lay with Bingley in these unpleasant exchanges, but today the turn of the conversation reminded him of the resolve he had formed the previous evening to caution his friend.

Without turning he replied, “Lovely? I believe I called her handsome. If she is lovely, I bow to your superior judgment, as you danced with her. I did not.”

“But you do have eyes, man!” Bingley responded energetically.

“Which I employed, at your insistence, you may recall.” Darcy shifted his stance, his focus remaining on the scenery beyond the window. He sipped again at his tea. “She smiles too much.”

“Smiles too much,” Bingley repeated in disbelief.

“A man must wonder at such a profusion of smiles. What may be their cause?” Darcy turned then and fixed Bingley with a penetrating look, as if to infuse him with the force of his disapprobation. “ ‘Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain,’ if I may be so bold as to quote.