"No, I did not," said Dorothea, after a moment's pause. She was
evidently much moved. "I am very, very sorry," she added, mournfully.
She was thinking of what Will had no knowledge of--the conversation
between her and her husband in the darkness; and she was anew smitten
with hopelessness that she could influence Mr. Casaubon's action. But
the marked expression of her sorrow convinced Will that it was not all
given to him personally, and that Dorothea had not been visited by the
idea that Mr. Casaubon's dislike and jealousy of him turned upon
herself. He felt an odd mixture of delight and vexation: of delight
that he could dwell and be cherished in her thought as in a pure home,
without suspicion and without stint--of vexation because he was of too
little account with her, was not formidable enough, was treated with an
unhesitating benevolence which did not flatter him. But his dread of
any change in Dorothea was stronger than his discontent, and he began
to speak again in a tone of mere explanation.
"Mr. Casaubon's reason is, his displeasure at my taking a position here
which he considers unsuited to my rank as his cousin. I have told him
that I cannot give way on this point. It is a little too hard on me to
expect that my course in life is to be hampered by prejudices which I
think ridiculous. Obligation may be stretched till it is no better
than a brand of slavery stamped on us when we were too young to know
its meaning. I would not have accepted the position if I had not meant
to make it useful and honorable. I am not bound to regard family
dignity in any other light."
Dorothea felt wretched. She thought her husband altogether in the
wrong, on more grounds than Will had mentioned.
"It is better for us not to speak on the subject," she said, with a
tremulousness not common in her voice, "since you and Mr. Casaubon
disagree. You intend to remain?" She was looking out on the lawn,
with melancholy meditation.
"Yes; but I shall hardly ever see you now," said Will, in a tone of
almost boyish complaint.
"No," said Dorothea, turning her eyes full upon him, "hardly ever. But
I shall hear of you. I shall know what you are doing for my uncle."
"I shall know hardly anything about you," said Will. "No one will tell
me anything."
"Oh, my life is very simple," said Dorothea, her lips curling with an
exquisite smile, which irradiated her melancholy. "I am always at
Lowick."
"That is a dreadful imprisonment," said Will, impetuously.