Certainly he seemed more and more bent on making her talk to him,on drawing her out, as Celia remarked to herself; and in looking at herhis face was often lit up by a smile like pale wintry sunshine. Before heleft the next morning, while taking a pleasant walk with Miss Brookealong the gravelled terrace, he had mentioned to her that he felt thedisadvantage of loneliness, the need of that cheerful companionship withwhich the presence of youth can lighten or vary the serious toils ofmaturity. And he delivered this statement with as much careful precisionas if he had been a diplomatic envoy whose words would be attendedwith results. Indeed, Mr. Casaubon was not used to expect that heshould have to repeat or revise his communications of a practical orpersonal kind. The inclinations which he had deliberately stated on the2d of October he would think it enough to refer to by the mention ofthat date; judging by the standard of his own memory, which was avolume where a vide supra could serve instead of repetitions, and notthe ordinary long-used blotting-book which only tells of forgottenwriting. But in this case Mr. Casaubon's confidence was not likely to befalsified, for Dorothea heard and retained what he said with the eagerinterest of a fresh young nature to which every variety in experience isan epoch.
It was three o'clock in the beautiful breezy autumn day when Mr.Casaubon drove off to his Rectory at Lowick, only five miles fromTipton; and Dorothea, who had on her bonnet and shawl, hurried alongthe shrubbery and across the park that she might wander through thebordering wood with no other visible companionship than that of Monk,the Great St. Bernard dog, who always took care of the young ladies intheir walks. There had risen before her the girl's vision of a possiblefuture for herself to which she looked forward with trembling hope, andshe wanted to wander on in that visionary future without interruption.She walked briskly in the brisk air, the color rose in her cheeks, and herstraw bonnet (which our contemporaries might look at with conjecturalcuriosity as at an obsolete form of basket) fell a little backward. Shewould perhaps be hardly characterized enough if it were omitted that shewore her brown hair flatly braided and coiled behind so as to expose theoutline of her head in a daring manner at a time when public feelingrequired the meagreness of nature to be dissimulated by tall barricadesof frizzed curls and bows, never surpassed by any great race except theFeejeean. This was a trait of Miss Brooke's asceticism. But there wasnothing of an ascetic's expression in her bright full eyes, as she lookedbefore her, not consciously seeing, but absorbing into the intensity of hermood, the solemn glory of the afternoon with its long swathes of lightbetween the far-off rows of limes, whose shadows touched each other.
All people, young or old (that is, all people in those ante-reformtimes), would have thought her an interesting object if they had referredthe glow in her eyes and cheeks to the newly awakened ordinary imagesof young love: the illusions of Chloe about Strephon have beensufficiently consecrated in poetry, as the pathetic loveliness of allspontaneous trust ought to be. Miss Pippin adoring young Pumpkin, anddreaming along endless vistas of unwearying companionship, was a littledrama which never tired our fathers and mothers, and had been put intoall costumes. Let but Pumpkin have a figure which would sustain thedisadvantages of the shortwaisted swallow-tail, and everybody felt it notonly natural but necessary to the perfection of womanhood, that a sweetgirl should be at once convinced of his virtue, his exceptional ability, andabove all, his perfect sincerity. But perhaps no persons then living—certainly none in the neighborhood of Tipton—would have had asympathetic understanding for the dreams of a girl whose notions aboutmarriage took their color entirely from an exalted enthusiasm about theends of life, an enthusiasm which was lit chiefly by its own fire, andincluded neither the niceties of the trousseau, the pattern of plate, noreven the honors and sweet joys of the blooming matron.
It had now entered Dorothea's mind that Mr. Casaubon might wishto make her his wife, and the idea that he would do so touched her witha sort of reverential gratitude. How good of him—nay, it would bealmost as if a winged messenger had suddenly stood beside her path andheld out his hand towards her! For a long while she had been oppressedby the indefiniteness which hung in her mind, like a thick summer haze,over all her desire to make her life greatly effective. What could she do,what ought she to do?—she, hardly more than a budding woman, but yetwith an active conscience and a great mental need, not to be satisfied bya girlish instruction comparable to the nibblings and judgments of adiscursive mouse. With some endowment of stupidity and conceit, shemight have thought that a Christian young lady of fortune should findher ideal of life in village charities, patronage of the humbler clergy, theperusal of "Female Scripture Characters," unfolding the privateexperience of Sara under the Old Dispensation, and Dorcas under theNew, and the care of her soul over her embroidery in her own boudoir—with a background of prospective marriage to a man who, if less strictthan herself, as being involved in affairs religiously inexplicable, mightbe prayed for and seasonably exhorted. From such contentment poorDorothea was shut out. The intensity of her religious disposition, thecoercion it exercised over her life, was but one aspect of a naturealtogether ardent, theoretic, and intellectually consequent: and with sucha nature struggling in the bands of a narrow teaching, hemmed in by asocial life which seemed nothing but a labyrinth of petty courses, awalled-in maze of small paths that led no whither, the outcome was sureto strike others as at once exaggeration and inconsistency. The thingwhich seemed to her best, she wanted to justify by the completestknowledge; and not to live in a pretended admission of rules which werenever acted on. Into this soul-hunger as yet all her youthful passion waspoured; the union which attracted her was one that would deliver herfrom her girlish subjection to her own ignorance, and give her thefreedom of voluntary submission to a guide who would take her alongthe grandest path.
"I should learn everything then," she said to herself, still walkingquickly along the bridle road through the wood. "It would be my duty tostudy that I might help him the better in his great works. There would benothing trivial about our lives. Every-day things with us would mean thegreatest things. It would be like marrying Pascal. I should learn to seethe truth by the same light as great men have seen it by. And then Ishould know what to do, when I got older: I should see how it waspossible to lead a grand life here—now—in England. I don't feel sureabout doing good in any way now: everything seems like going on amission to a people whose language I don't know;—unless it werebuilding good cottages—there can be no doubt about that. Oh, I hope Ishould be able to get the people well housed in Lowick! I will drawplenty of plans while I have time."
Dorothea checked herself suddenly with self-rebuke for thepresumptuous way in which she was reckoning on uncertain events, butshe was spared any inward effort to change the direction of her thoughtsby the appearance of a cantering horseman round a turning of the road.The well-groomed chestnut horse and two beautiful setters could leaveno doubt that the rider was Sir James Chettam. He discerned Dorothea,jumped off his horse at once, and, having delivered it to his groom,advanced towards her with something white on his arm, at which thetwo setters were barking in an excited manner.
"How delightful to meet you, Miss Brooke," he said, raising his hatand showing his sleekly waving blond hair. "It has hastened the pleasureI was looking forward to."
Miss Brooke was annoyed at the interruption. This amiable baronet,really a suitable husband for Celia, exaggerated the necessity of makinghimself agreeable to the elder sister. Even a prospective brother-in-lawmay be an oppression if he will always be presupposing too good anunderstanding with you, and agreeing with you even when youcontradict him. The thought that he had made the mistake of paying hisaddresses to herself could not take shape: all her mental activity wasused up in persuasions of another kind. But he was positively obtrusiveat this moment, and his dimpled hands were quite disagreeable. Herroused temper made her color deeply, as she returned his greeting withsome haughtiness.
Sir James interpreted the heightened color in the way most gratifyingto himself, and thought he never saw Miss Brooke looking so handsome.
"I have brought a little petitioner," he said, "or rather, I have broughthim to see if he will be approved before his petition is offered." Heshowed the white object under his arm, which was a tiny Maltese puppy,one of nature's most naive toys.
"It is painful to me to see these creatures that are bred merely aspets," said Dorothea, whose opinion was forming itself that very moment(as opinions will) under the heat of irritation.
"Oh, why?" said Sir James, as they walked forward.
"I believe all the petting that is given them does not make themhappy. They are too helpless: their lives are too frail. A weasel or amouse that gets its own living is more interesting. I like to think that theanimals about us have souls something like our own, and either carry ontheir own little affairs or can be companions to us, like Monk here.Those creatures are parasitic."
"I am so glad I know that you do not like them," said good Sir James."I should never keep them for myself, but ladies usually are fond of theseMaltese dogs. Here, John, take this dog, will you?"
The objectionable puppy, whose nose and eyes were equally blackand expressive, was thus got rid of, since Miss Brooke decided that ithad better not have been born. But she felt it necessary to explain.
"You must not judge of Celia's feeling from mine. I think she likesthese small pets. She had a tiny terrier once, which she was very fond of.It made me unhappy, because I was afraid of treading on it. I am rathershort-sighted."
"You have your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke, and it isalways a good opinion."
What answer was possible to such stupid complimenting?
"Do you know, I envy you that," Sir James said, as they continuedwalking at the rather brisk pace set by Dorothea.
"I don't quite understand what you mean."
"Your power of forming an opinion. I can form an opinion ofpersons. I know when I like people. But about other matters, do youknow, I have often a difficulty in deciding. One hears very sensiblethings said on opposite sides."
"Or that seem sensible. Perhaps we don't always discriminatebetween sense and nonsense."
Dorothea felt that she was rather rude.
"Exactly," said Sir James. "But you seem to have the power ofdiscrimination."
"On the contrary, I am often unable to decide. But that is fromignorance. The right conclusion is there all the same, though I am unableto see it."
"I think there are few who would see it more readily. Do you know,Lovegood was telling me yesterday that you had the best notion in theworld of a plan for cottages—quite wonderful for a young lady, hethought. You had a real genus, to use his expression. He said you wantedMr. Brooke to build a new set of cottages, but he seemed to think ithardly probable that your uncle would consent. Do you know, that is oneof the things I wish to do—I mean, on my own estate. I should be soglad to carry out that plan of yours, if you would let me see it. Ofcourse, it is sinking money; that is why people object to it. Laborers cannever pay rent to make it answer. But, after all, it is worth doing."
"Worth doing! yes, indeed," said Dorothea, energetically, forgettingher previous small vexations. "I think we deserve to be beaten out of ourbeautiful houses with a scourge of small cords—all of us who let tenantslive in such sties as we see round us. Life in cottages might be happierthan ours, if they were real houses fit for human beings from whom weexpect duties and affections."
"Will you show me your plan?"
"Yes, certainly. I dare say it is very faulty. But I have been examiningall the plans for cottages in Loudon's book, and picked out what seemthe best things. Oh what a happiness it would be to set the pattern abouthere! I think instead of Lazarus at the gate, we should put the pigstycottages outside the park-gate."
Dorothea was in the best temper now. Sir James, as brother in-law,building model cottages on his estate, and then, perhaps, others beingbuilt at Lowick, and more and more elsewhere in imitation—it would beas if the spirit of Oberlin had passed over the parishes to make the life ofpoverty beautiful!
Sir James saw all the plans, and took one away to consult upon withLovegood. He also took away a complacent sense that he was makinggreat progress in Miss Brooke's good opinion. The Maltese puppy wasnot offered to Celia; an omission which Dorothea afterwards thought ofwith surprise; but she blamed herself for it. She had been engrossing SirJames. After all, it was a relief that there was no puppy to tread upon.
Celia was present while the plans were being examined, andobserved Sir James's illusion. "He thinks that Dodo cares about him, andshe only cares about her plans. Yet I am not certain that she wouldrefuse him if she thought he would let her manage everything and carryout all her notions. And how very uncomfortable Sir James would be! Icannot bear notions."
It was Celia's private luxury to indulge in this dislike. She dared notconfess it to her sister in any direct statement, for that would be layingherself open to a demonstration that she was somehow or other at warwith all goodness. But on safe opportunities, she had an indirect mode ofmaking her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea, and calling her downfrom her rhapsodic mood by reminding her that people were staring, notlistening. Celia was not impulsive: what she had to say could wait, andcame from her always with the same quiet staccato evenness. Whenpeople talked with energy and emphasis she watched their faces andfeatures merely. She never could understand how well-bred personsconsented to sing and open their mouths in the ridiculous mannerrequisite for that vocal exercise.
It was not many days before Mr. Casaubon paid a morning visit, onwhich he was invited again for the following week to dine and stay thenight. Thus Dorothea had three more conversations with him, and wasconvinced that her first impressions had been just. He was all she had atfirst imagined him to be: almost everything he had said seemed like aspecimen from a mine, or the inscription on the door of a museum whichmight open on the treasures of past ages; and this trust in his mentalwealth was all the deeper and more effective on her inclination becauseit was now obvious that his visits were made for her sake. Thisaccomplished man condescended to think of a young girl, and take thepains to talk to her, not with absurd compliment, but with an appeal toher understanding, and sometimes with instructive correction. Whatdelightful companionship! Mr. Casaubon seemed even unconscious thattrivialities existed, and never handed round that small-talk of heavy menwhich is as acceptable as stale bride-cake brought forth with an odor ofcupboard. He talked of what he was interested in, or else he was silentand bowed with sad civility. To Dorothea this was adorable genuineness,and religious abstinence from that artificiality which uses up the soul inthe efforts of pretence. For she looked as reverently at Mr. Casaubon'sreligious elevation above herself as she did at his intellect and learning.He assented to her expressions of devout feeling, and usually with anappropriate quotation; he allowed himself to say that he had gonethrough some spiritual conflicts in his youth; in short, Dorothea saw thathere she might reckon on understanding, sympathy, and guidance. Onone—only one—of her favorite themes she was disappointed. Mr.Casaubon apparently did not care about building cottages, and divertedthe talk to the extremely narrow accommodation which was to be had inthe dwellings of the ancient Egyptians, as if to check a too high standard.After he was gone, Dorothea dwelt with some agitation on thisindifference of his; and her mind was much exercised with argumentsdrawn from the varying conditions of climate which modify humanneeds, and from the admitted wickedness of pagan despots. Should shenot urge these arguments on Mr. Casaubon when he came again? Butfurther reflection told her that she was presumptuous in demanding hisattention to such a subject; he would not disapprove of her occupyingherself with it in leisure moments, as other women expected to occupythemselves with their dress and embroidery—would not forbid it when—Dorothea felt rather ashamed as she detected herself in thesespeculations. But her uncle had been invited to go to Lowick to stay acouple of days: was it reasonable to suppose that Mr. Casaubondelighted in Mr. Brooke's society for its own sake, either with or withoutdocuments?
