"In character, are you? But not in face."
The frank simplicity of Dorothea's manner was taking effect. Mr. Claughton glanced up with more of attention than he had vouchsafed hitherto.
"Likeness is surely a matter of expression, at least, as much as of feature. However, one cannot be a judge of oneself."
"I don't think you are alike in expression; but nobody could help seeing that you are brothers."
"And yet," Dorothea was astonished to hear him say after a break, "we have scarcely one interest or subject in common."
"Is that a necessary state of things?" Dorothea did not question his assertion, as he perhaps expected.
"Perhaps not, if either could enter into the other's feelings." Dorothea thought of Mervyn's words in the Park. "Don't misunderstand me," he added, "I am not complaining of Mervyn. It is of myself that I complain."
"Isn't that the first step towards a change?"
"No. The difficulty is in our temperaments. He is all sunshine and merriment, hardly able to look at anything seriously for five minutes together. I am—" and a pause. "Hardly necessary to tell you. I have no sparkle or lightness in my composition. Sometimes I wish I had. Not to the extent that—" and another pause.
"But he is not all merriment. He does take things seriously—below. The froth is only on the surface, you know."