In short, I am inclined to fancy Fitzgerald would have acted just the same part in the same situation.
But it is your great fault, my dear Emily, to suppose your love a phoenix, whereas he is only an agreable, worthy, handsome fellow, comme un autre.
I suppose you will be very angry; but who cares? I will be angry too.
Surely, my Fitzgerald—I allow Rivers all his merit; but comparisons, my dear—
Both our fellows, to be sure, are charming creatures; and I would not change them for a couple of Adonis’s: yet I don’t insist upon it, that there is nothing agreable in the world but them.
You should remember, my dear, that beauty is in the lover’s eye; and that, however highly you may think of Rivers, every woman breathing has the same idea of the dear man.
O heaven! I must tell you, because it will flatter your vanity about your charmer.
I have had a letter from an old lover of mine at Quebec, who tells me, Madame Des Roches has just refused one of the best matches in the country, and vows she will live and die a batchelor.
’Tis a mighty foolish resolution, and yet I cannot help liking her the better for making it.
My dear papa talks of taking a house near you, and of having a garden to rival yours: we shall spend a good deal of time with him, and I shall make love to Rivers, which you know will be vastly pretty.