"How can you think of that?" said Dorothea, in a tone of earnest
remonstrance. "I should have no happiness if I did not help him in his
work. What could I do? There is no good to be done in Lowick. The
only thing I desire is to help him more. And he objects to a
secretary: please not to mention that again."
"Certainly not, now I know your feeling. But I have heard both Mr.
Brooke and Sir James Chettam express the same wish."
"Yes?" said Dorothea, "but they don't understand--they want me to be a
great deal on horseback, and have the garden altered and new
conservatories, to fill up my days. I thought you could understand
that one's mind has other wants," she added, rather
impatiently--"besides, Mr. Casaubon cannot bear to hear of a secretary."
"My mistake is excusable," said Will. "In old days I used to hear Mr.
Casaubon speak as if he looked forward to having a secretary. Indeed
he held out the prospect of that office to me. But I turned out to
be--not good enough for it."
Dorothea was trying to extract out of this an excuse for her husband's
evident repulsion, as she said, with a playful smile, "You were not a
steady worker enough."
"No," said Will, shaking his head backward somewhat after the manner of
a spirited horse. And then, the old irritable demon prompting him to
give another good pinch at the moth-wings of poor Mr. Casaubon's glory,
he went on, "And I have seen since that Mr. Casaubon does not like any
one to overlook his work and know thoroughly what he is doing. He is
too doubtful--too uncertain of himself. I may not be good for much,
but he dislikes me because I disagree with him."
Will was not without his intentions to be always generous, but our
tongues are little triggers which have usually been pulled before
general intentions can be brought to bear. And it was too intolerable
that Casaubon's dislike of him should not be fairly accounted for to
Dorothea. Yet when he had spoken he was rather uneasy as to the effect
on her.
But Dorothea was strangely quiet--not immediately indignant, as she had
been on a like occasion in Rome. And the cause lay deep. She was no
longer struggling against the perception of facts, but adjusting
herself to their clearest perception; and now when she looked steadily
at her husband's failure, still more at his possible consciousness of
failure, she seemed to be looking along the one track where duty became
tenderness. Will's want of reticence might have been met with more
severity, if he had not already been recommended to her mercy by her
husband's dislike, which must seem hard to her till she saw better
reason for it.