CHAPTER V.

nthatattitudetillitwastimetodressfordinner. Howcoulditoccurtohertoexaminetheletter,tolookatitcriticallyasaprofessionoflove?Herwholesoulwaspossessedbythefactthatafullerlifewasopeningbeforeher:shewasaneophyteabouttoenteronahighergradeofinitiation.Shewasgoingtohaveroomfortheenergieswhichstirreduneasilyunderthedimnessandpressureofherownignoranceandthepettyperemptorinessoftheworld’shabits. Nowshewouldbeabletodevoteherselftolargeyetdefinitedutiesnowshewouldbeallowedtolivecontinuallyinthelightofamindthatshecouldreverence.Thishopewasnotunmixedwiththeglowofprouddelight—thejoyousmaidensurprisethatshewaschosenbythemanwhomheradmirationhadchosen.AllDorothea’spassionwastransfusedthroughamindstrugglingtowardsanideallifetheradianceofhertransfiguredgirlhoodfellonthefirstobjectthatcamewithinitslevel.Theimpetuswithwhichinclinationbecameresolutionwasheightenedbythoselittleeventsofthedaywhichhadrousedherdiscontentwiththeactualconditionsofherlife. Afterdinner,whenCeliawasplayingan“air,withvariations,”asmallkindoftinklingwhichsymbolizedtheaestheticpartoftheyoungladies’education,DorotheawentuptoherroomtoanswerMr.Casaubon’sletter.Whyshouldshedefertheanswer?Shewroteitoverthreetimes,notbecauseshewishedtochangethewording,butbecauseherhandwasunusuallyuncertain,andshecouldnotbearthatMr.Casaubonshouldthinkherhandwritingbadandillegible.Shepiquedherselfonwritingahandinwhicheachletterwasdistinguishablewithoutanylargerangeofconjecture,andshemeanttomakemuchuseofthisaccomplishment,tosaveMr.Casaubon’seyes.Threetimesshewrote. MYDEARMR.CASAUBON,—Iamverygratefultoyouforlovingme,andthinkingmeworthytobeyourwife.Icanlookforwardtonobetterhappinessthanthatwhichwouldbeonewithyours.IfIsaidmore,itwouldonlybethesamethingwrittenoutatgreaterlength,forIcannotnowdwellonanyotherthoughtthanthatImaybethroughlife Yoursdevotedly, DOROTHEABROOKE. Laterintheeveningshefollowedheruncleintothelibrarytogivehimtheletter,thathemightsenditinthemorning.Hewassurprised,buthissurpriseonlyissuedinafewmoments’silence,duringwhichhepushedaboutvariousobjectsonhiswriting-table,andfinallystoodwithhisbacktothefire,hisglassesonhisnose,lookingattheaddressofDorothea’sletter. “Haveyouthoughtenoughaboutthis,mydear?”hesaidatlast. “Therewasnoneedtothinklong,uncle.Iknowofnothingtomakemevacillate.IfIchangedmymind,itmustbebecauseofsomethingimportantandentirelynewtome.” “Ah!—thenyouhaveacceptedhim?ThenChettamhasnochance?HasChettamoffendedyou—offendedyou,youknow?Whatisityoudon’tlikeinChettam?” “ThereisnothingthatIlikeinhim,”saidDorothea,ratherimpetuously. Mr.Brookethrewhisheadandshouldersbackwardasifsomeonehadthrownalightmissileathim.Dorotheaimmediatelyfeltsomeself-rebuke,andsaid— “Imeaninthelightofahusband.Heisverykind,Ithink—reallyverygoodaboutthecottages.Awell-meaningman.” “Butyoumusthaveascholar,andthatsortofthing?Well,itliesalittleinourfamily.Ihaditmyself—thatloveofknowledge,andgoingintoeverything—alittletoomuch—ittookmetoofarthoughthatsortofthingdoesn’toftenruninthefemale-lineoritrunsundergroundliketheriversinGreece,youknow—itcomesoutinthesons.Cleversons,clevermothers.Iwentagooddealintothat,atonetime.However,mydear,Ihavealwayssaidthatpeopleshoulddoastheylikeinthesethings,uptoacertainpoint.Icouldn’t,asyourguardian,haveconsentedtoabadmatch.ButCasaubonst