CHAPTER VII.

reindeedtheremightbesecretsnotcapableofexplanationtoawoman’sreason. Mr.Brookehadnodoubtonthatpoint,andexpressedhimselfwithhisusualstrengthuponitonedaythathecameintothelibrarywhilethereadingwasgoingforward. “Well,butnow,Casaubon,suchdeepstudies,classics,mathematics,thatkindofthing,aretootaxingforawoman—tootaxing,youknow.” “Dorotheaislearningtoreadthecharacterssimply,”saidMr.Casaubon,evadingthequestion.“Shehadtheveryconsideratethoughtofsavingmyeyes.” “Ah,well,withoutunderstanding,youknow—thatmaynotbesobad.Butthereisalightnessaboutthefemininemind—atouchandgo—music,thefinearts,thatkindofthing—theyshouldstudythoseuptoacertainpoint,womenshouldbutinalightway,youknow.AwomanshouldbeabletositdownandplayyouorsingyouagoodoldEnglishtune.ThatiswhatIlikethoughIhaveheardmostthings—beenattheoperainVienna:Gluck,Mozart,everythingofthatsort.ButI’maconservativeinmusic—it’snotlikeideas,youknow.Isticktothegoodoldtunes.” “Mr.Casaubonisnotfondofthepiano,andIamverygladheisnot,”saidDorothea,whoseslightregardfordomesticmusicandfemininefineartmustbeforgivenher,consideringthesmalltinklingandsmearinginwhichtheychieflyconsistedatthatdarkperiod.Shesmiledandlookedupatherbetrothedwithgratefuleyes.Ifhehadalwaysbeenaskinghertoplaythe“LastRoseofSummer,”shewouldhaverequiredmuchresignation.“HesaysthereisonlyanoldharpsichordatLowick,anditiscoveredwithbooks.” “Ah,thereyouarebehindCelia,mydear.Celia,now,playsveryprettily,andisalwaysreadytoplay.However,sinceCasaubondoesnotlikeit,youareallright.Butit’sapityyoushouldnothavelittlerecreationsofthatsort,Casaubon:thebowalwaysstrung—thatkindofthing,youknow—willnotdo.” “Inevercouldlookonitinthelightofarecreationtohavemyearsteasedwithmeasurednoises,”saidMr.Casaubon.“Atunemuchiteratedhastheridiculouseffectofmakingthewordsinmymindperformasortofminuettokeeptime—aneffecthardlytolerable,Iimagine,afterboyhood.Astothegranderformsofmusic,worthytoaccompanysol