it was not a matter of propriety, more so blatant disrespect.

with some persuasion, you convinced me to host a ball, you always do, and so here we are, you forcing me, and by the force of just your eyes looking at me, i try to make you pleased and i make conversation with our guests, one of whom is Mr. Hurst, the unflattering brother in law to Charles Bingley.

i payed no mind to much of the conversation, until he started talking about my estate, complimenting it, lazy and careless as he says: ‘it really is a beautiful place, i assume you never get a moments peace around with that spouse of yours, such a mouth on her’

i did not respond, i did not want to, i excused myself with an excuse of needing to speak to someone, and i wandered around the rest of the night, watching you, and tuning out any other foul noise made from our guests, eventually the night ended, and with the last carriage gone, i turn to you and state “Mr. Hurst will no longer be invited here” i say calmly