"Very true. You couldn't put the thing better--couldn't put it better,
beforehand, you know. But there are oddities in things," continued Mr.
Brooke, whose conscience was really roused to do the best he could for
his niece on this occasion. "Life isn't cast in a mould--not cut out
by rule and line, and that sort of thing. I never married myself, and
it will be the better for you and yours. The fact is, I never loved
any one well enough to put myself into a noose for them. It _is_ a
noose, you know. Temper, now. There is temper. And a husband likes
to be master."
"I know that I must expect trials, uncle. Marriage is a state of
higher duties. I never thought of it as mere personal ease," said poor
Dorothea.
"Well, you are not fond of show, a great establishment, balls, dinners,
that kind of thing. I can see that Casaubon's ways might suit you
better than Chettam's. And you shall do as you like, my dear. I would
not hinder Casaubon; I said so at once; for there is no knowing how
anything may turn out. You have not the same tastes as every young
lady; and a clergyman and scholar--who may be a bishop--that kind of
thing--may suit you better than Chettam. Chettam is a good fellow, a
good sound-hearted fellow, you know; but he doesn't go much into ideas.
I did, when I was his age. But Casaubon's eyes, now. I think he has
hurt them a little with too much reading."
"I should be all the happier, uncle, the more room there was for me to
help him," said Dorothea, ardently.
"You have quite made up your mind, I see. Well, my dear, the fact is,
I have a letter for you in my pocket." Mr. Brooke handed the letter to
Dorothea, but as she rose to go away, he added, "There is not too much
hurry, my dear. Think about it, you know."
When Dorothea had left him, he reflected that he had certainly spoken
strongly: he had put the risks of marriage before her in a striking
manner. It was his duty to do so. But as to pretending to be wise for
young people,--no uncle, however much he had travelled in his youth,
absorbed the new ideas, and dined with celebrities now deceased, could
pretend to judge what sort of marriage would turn out well for a young
girl who preferred Casaubon to Chettam. In short, woman was a problem
which, since Mr. Brooke's mind felt blank before it, could be hardly
less complicated than the revolutions of an irregular solid.