“In that case, Agnes, I shall have to fall in love with him over again, and to fall in love with the same individual twice, will certainly be rather a novel case—a double passion, at least, you will grant, Agnes.”
“But he will experience sensations quite as singular on seeing you, when he returns. You are as much changed—improved I mean—in your person, as he can be for his life. If he is now a fine, full-grown young man, you are a tall, elegant—I don’t, want to flatter you, Jane,—I need not say graceful, for that you always were, but I may add with truth, a majestic young woman. Why, you will scarcely know each other.”
“You do flatter me, Agnes; but am I so much improved?”
“Indeed you are quite a different girl from what you were when he saw you.”
“I am glad of it; but as I told him once, it is on his account that I am so glad; do you know, Agnes, I never was vain of my beauty until I saw Charles?”
“Did you ever feel proud in being beautiful in the eyes of another, Jane?”
“No, I never did—why should I?”
“Well, that is not vanity—it is only love visible in a different aspect, and not the least amiable either, my dear.”
“Well, I should be much more melancholy than I am, were not my fancy so often engaged in picturing to myself the change which may be on him when he returns. The feeling it occasions is novel and agreeable, sometimes, indeed, delightful, and so far sustains me when I am inclined to be gloomy. But believe me, Agnes, I could love Charles Osborne even if he were not handsome. I could love him for his mind, his principles, and especially for his faithful and constant heart.”
“And for all these he would deserve your love; but you remember what you told me once: it seems he has not yet seen a girl that he thinks more handsome than you are. Did you not mention to me that he said when he did, he would cease to write to you and cease to love you? You see he is constant.”