A/N: A little more than a true drabble, but I couldn't be bothered to think up a plot. Mary flirts with an unnamed person. Personally, I'd like to think it's Colonel Fitzwilliam, but you may believe it is whoever you like.

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Mary blushed and looked away. "I'm terribly plain in comparison with my sisters. Jane is the prettiest, and Lizzy the brightest. Kitty and Lydia are even prettier than me."

He gave a small frown, which wrinkled the skin of his brow. "Then don't compare yourself!" he replied in a fierce whisper. "You are pretty enough on your own to have no need of such silly things. Your smile charms, and your eyes gleam with education. Perhaps the younger girls are prettier, and Jane more engaging, and Elizabeth more natural at music and academia. But you are filled with a fire of passion and determination. Every woman is different, as every flower is different. Comparing your flaws to another's finer points is ignoring one's own finer points."