Kitty did not want to seem inclined to pursue the subject, and William Price, after a moment's pause, said: "I imagine that you mean, by a motive, the general feeling of goodwill in your friend's mind towards you. I should doubt if people really have a distinct motive for every little thing they do and say--at all events, they would have some difficulty in defining one. But perhaps you yourself, Miss Darcy, are a student of motives--perhaps your own actions are determined by a clear purpose?" "Mine? Oh, dear, no," said Georgiana, looking up at him, and down again with a bright blush. "I think it is rather interesting to speculate upon other people's motives and to wonder what hidden impulses make them do certain things which seem hard to account for; but as to myself--oh, no, I never understand my own motives--I do not always know what they are. Do you understand yours?" "Well, yes, I think so; not that I have ever troubled much about it, but on general principles, I think I always do things, or try to do them, either because I want to very much, or because it is a matter of professional duty." "Then you are decidedly to be congratulated, Mr. Price," said Georgiana, smiling. "I should--I mean, most people would think themselves fortunate if they had two such burning lights to guide them. I suppose the way is so clear that you do not need to seek any further motives, as to why you want to do the thing so much, for instance?" "Of course not," promptly replied William, "that would be looking back. How would one ever steer a ship, unless one kept one's eyes fixed on the course ahead? If you suspect there are rocks, you must avoid them, but it would be a waste of time wondering how you came to be where you are. You see that, too, do you not?" "Yes, I see what you mean," replied Georgiana, "but I am afraid I have not learnt to steer my ship quite so well, or perhaps I have too many lights, and they are confusing." William began to reply, but was interrupted by Kitty, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. "Mr. Price, do you know what you have done? refused the lobster sauce! What can you be thinking of? your turbot will not be half so nice without it!" William made proper apologies to the bearer of the lobster sauce, who returned it at Kitty's summons, and she was pacified by Mr. Price's applying himself to his dinner, and entering heartily into a reminiscence of hers at a dinner-party at Mrs. Knightley's, when they had met for the first time, and when there had also--strange coincidence--been turbot for dinner.