Middlemarch George Eliot (essential reading txt) đ
- Author: George Eliot
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âIâm dying to know the sad news. The gamekeeper is not shot: that is settled. What is it, then?â
âWell, itâs a very trying thing, you know,â said Mr. Brooke. âIâm glad you and the Rector are here; itâs a family matterâ âbut you will help us all to bear it, Cadwallader. Iâve got to break it to you, my dear.â Here Mr. Brooke looked at Celiaâ ââYouâve no notion what it is, you know. And, Chettam, it will annoy you uncommonlyâ âbut, you see, you have not been able to hinder it, any more than I have. Thereâs something singular in things: they come round, you know.â
âIt must be about Dodo,â said Celia, who had been used to think of her sister as the dangerous part of the family machinery. She had seated herself on a low stool against her husbandâs knee.
âFor Godâs sake let us hear what it is!â said Sir James.
âWell, you know, Chettam, I couldnât help Casaubonâs will: it was a sort of will to make things worse.â
âExactly,â said Sir James, hastily. âBut what is worse?â
âDorothea is going to be married again, you know,â said Mr. Brooke, nodding towards Celia, who immediately looked up at her husband with a frightened glance, and put her hand on his knee. Sir James was almost white with anger, but he did not speak.
âMerciful heaven!â said Mrs. Cadwallader. âNot to young Ladislaw?â
Mr. Brooke nodded, saying, âYes; to Ladislaw,â and then fell into a prudential silence.
âYou see, Humphrey!â said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving her arm towards her husband. âAnother time you will admit that I have some foresight; or rather you will contradict me and be just as blind as ever. You supposed that the young gentleman was gone out of the country.â
âSo he might be, and yet come back,â said the Rector, quietly.
âWhen did you learn this?â said Sir James, not liking to hear anyone else speak, though finding it difficult to speak himself.
âYesterday,â said Mr. Brooke, meekly. âI went to Lowick. Dorothea sent for me, you know. It had come about quite suddenlyâ âneither of them had any idea two days agoâ ânot any idea, you know. Thereâs something singular in things. But Dorothea is quite determinedâ âit is no use opposing. I put it strongly to her. I did my duty, Chettam. But she can act as she likes, you know.â
âIt would have been better if I had called him out and shot him a year ago,â said Sir James, not from bloody-mindedness, but because he needed something strong to say.
âReally, James, that would have been very disagreeable,â said Celia.
âBe reasonable, Chettam. Look at the affair more quietly,â said Mr. Cadwallader, sorry to see his good-natured friend so overmastered by anger.
âThat is not so very easy for a man of any dignityâ âwith any sense of rightâ âwhen the affair happens to be in his own family,â said Sir James, still in his white indignation. âIt is perfectly scandalous. If Ladislaw had had a spark of honor he would have gone out of the country at once, and never shown his face in it again. However, I am not surprised. The day after Casaubonâs funeral I said what ought to be done. But I was not listened to.â
âYou wanted what was impossible, you know, Chettam,â said Mr. Brooke. âYou wanted him shipped off. I told you Ladislaw was not to be done as we liked with: he had his ideas. He was a remarkable fellowâ âI always said he was a remarkable fellow.â
âYes,â said Sir James, unable to repress a retort, âit is rather a pity you formed that high opinion of him. We are indebted to that for his being lodged in this neighborhood. We are indebted to that for seeing a woman like Dorothea degrading herself by marrying him.â Sir James made little stoppages between his clauses, the words not coming easily. âA man so marked out by her husbandâs will, that delicacy ought to have forbidden her from seeing him againâ âwho takes her out of her proper rankâ âinto povertyâ âhas the meanness to accept such a sacrificeâ âhas always had an objectionable positionâ âa bad originâ âand, I believe, is a man of little principle and light character. That is my opinion.â Sir James ended emphatically, turning aside and crossing his leg.
âI pointed everything out to her,â said Mr. Brooke, apologeticallyâ ââI mean the poverty, and abandoning her position. I said, âMy dear, you donât know what it is to live on seven hundred a-year, and have no carriage, and that kind of thing, and go amongst people who donât know who you are.â I put it strongly to her. But I advise you to talk to Dorothea herself. The fact is, she has a dislike to Casaubonâs property. You will hear what she says, you know.â
âNoâ âexcuse meâ âI shall not,â said Sir James, with more coolness. âI cannot bear to see her again; it is too painful. It hurts me too much that a woman like Dorothea should have done what is wrong.â
âBe just, Chettam,â said the easy, large-lipped Rector, who objected to all this unnecessary discomfort. âMrs. Casaubon may be acting imprudently: she is giving up a fortune for the sake of a man, and we men have so poor an opinion of each other that we can hardly call a woman wise who does that. But I think you should not condemn it as a wrong action, in the strict sense of the word.â
âYes, I do,â answered Sir James. âI think that Dorothea commits a wrong action in marrying Ladislaw.â
âMy dear fellow, we are rather apt to consider an act wrong because it is unpleasant to us,â said the Rector, quietly. Like many men who take life easily, he had the knack of saying a home truth occasionally to those who felt themselves virtuously out of temper. Sir James took out his handkerchief and began to bite the corner.
âIt is very dreadful of Dodo, though,â said Celia, wishing to justify her husband. âShe said she never would marry againâ ânot anybody at all.â
âI heard her say the same thing myself,â said Lady Chettam, majestically, as if
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