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"They are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine."
"It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter, with ease, cannot write ill."
"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline," cried her brother—"because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables.—Do not you, Darcy?"
"My style of writing is very different from yours."
"Oh!" cried Miss Bingley, "Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest."
"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents."
"Your humility, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth, "must disarm reproof."
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."
"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?"
"The indirect boast;—for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of
