w you
will be glad to hear as soon as possible, and I
really am impatient myself to be writing something
on so very interesting a subject, though I have no
hope of writing anything to the purpose. I shall
do very little more, I dare say, than say over
again what you have said before.

I was certainly a good deal surprised _at first_,
as I had no suspicion of any change in your
feelings, and I have no scruple in saying that you
cannot be in love. My dear Fanny, I am ready to
laugh at the idea, and yet it is no laughing
matter to have had you so mistaken as to your own
feelings. And with all my heart I wish I had
cautioned you on that point when first you spoke
to me; but, though I did not think you then _much_
in love, I did consider you as being attached in a
degree quite sufficiently for happiness, as I had
no doubt it would increase with opportunity, and
from the time of our being in London[334] together
I thought you really very much in love. But you
certainly are not at all--there is no concealing
it.

What strange creatures we are! It seems as if your
being secure of him had made you indifferent.

* * * * *

He is just what he ever was, only more evidently
and uniformly devoted to _you_. This is all the
difference. How shall we account for it?

My dearest Fanny, I am writing what will not be of
the smallest use to you. I am feeling differently
every moment, and shall not be able to suggest a
single thing that can assist your mind. I could
lament in one sentence and laugh in the next, but
as to opinion or counsel I am sure that none will
be extracted worth having from this letter.

* * * * *

Poor dear Mr. A.! Oh, dear Fanny! your mistake has
been one that thousands of women fall into. He was
the _first_ young man who attached himself to you.
That was the charm, and most powerful it is. Among
the multitudes, however, that make the same
mistake with yourself, there can be few indeed who
have so little reason to regret it; _his_
ch