I cannot suppose that you have
not the _wish_ to love him--the natural wish of gratitude.
You must have some feeling of that sort. You must be sorry
for your own indifference."
"We are so totally unlike," said Fanny, avoiding a
direct answer, "we are so very, very different in all
our inclinations and ways, that I consider it as quite
impossible we should ever be tolerably happy together,
even if I _could_ like him. There never were two people
more dissimilar. We have not one taste in common.
We should be miserable."
"You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not so strong.
You are quite enough alike. You _have_ tastes in common.
You have moral and literary tastes in common. You have
both warm hearts and benevolent feelings; and, Fanny,
who that heard him read, and saw you listen to Shakespeare
the other night, will think you unfitted as companions?
You forget yourself: there is a decided difference
in your tempers, I allow. He is lively, you are serious;
but so much the better: his spirits will support yours.
It is your disposition to be easily dejected and to fancy
difficulties greater than they are.
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