You mistake, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.
Mrs. Bennet.
Ah! You do not know what I suffer.
Lydia.
[Bursting into the room, followed by Jane.] Oh, that horrid practice! [Looking back at Jane.] Jane does so keep me at it. [Throwing herself into a chair.] La, I'm tired to death.
Jane.
[Who sees that her mother is half crying, goes and stands behind her chair, puts her hand affectionately on her shoulder, and bends over her.] Does your head ache, mamma?
Mrs. Bennet.
Of course my head aches. Your father is so teasing. I cannot persuade him to call on Mr. Bingley at Netherfield, so I suppose we shall never know him.
Jane.