When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning, that if you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself
— and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?”
— “Nay,” cried Bingley, “this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning.
And yet, upon my honour, I believe what I said of myself to be true, and I believed it at this moment.
At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to shew off before the ladies.”
— “I dare say you believed it;
but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity.
Your conduct would be quite as dependant on chance as that of any man I know;
and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say,
'Bingley, you had better stay till next week,'
you would probably do it — you would probably not go
— and, at another word, might stay a month.”