like yourself, your rational
self.«
    »I mean,« she cried, sorrowfully, correcting herself, »that I think, I never
shall, as far as the future can be answered for - I think I never shall return
his regard.«
    »I must hope better things. I am aware, more aware than Crawford can be,
that the man who means to make you love him (you having due notice of his
intentions), must have very up-hill work, for there are all your early
attachments, and habits, in battle array; and before he can get your heart for
his own use, he has to unfasten it from all the holds upon things animate and
inanimate, which so many years growth have confirmed, and which are considerably
tightened for the moment by the very idea of separation. I know that the
apprehension of being forced to quit Mansfield will for a time be arming you
against him. I wish he had not been obliged to tell you what he was trying for.
I wish he had known you as well as I do, Fanny. Between us, I think we should
have won you. My theoretical and his practical knowledge together, could not
have failed. He should have worked upon my plans. I must hope, however, that
time proving him (as I firmly believe it will), to deserve you by his steady
affection, will give him his reward. 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