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Viscount (curious): My brother, a sadly unnamed Colonel, tells me she's pretty. So, tell all! What does she look like?
Darcy (dreamily): Oh, she's well, she... (sighs)
Viscount (impatient): Ye-aas?
Darcy (still dreaming): Her figure is light and pleasing. And she's got very fine eyes. In fact, I have just been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty women can bestow.
Viscount (unsatisfied): There's got to be more you can tell me! Has she perhaps chocolate curls, that keep on escaping her pins, teasing you without mercy? Forever making you look at her elegant neck? Auburn tresses? Does she wear muslin dresses that are a bit translucent in the exact right light, thus exposing her toned legs because of all her traipsing about the countryside? Is she so very petite she always looks up to you, except, she doesn't? What color are those eyes even? The brightest green you ever saw? There must be more you can tell me!
Darcy (shocked): Well no! How can you expect me to notice anything else when there's those dark eyes that render her face uncommonly intelligent? Those eyes. So very fine. And her figure! Light and pleasing! (sighs)
An exasparated Viscount is seen leaving an unnamed house in town not much later. Witnesses claim he was mumbling "lovesick fool" all the way home.