Middlemarch | Page 8

know whether a paper is in A or Z."
"I wish you would let me sort your papers for you, uncle," said
Dorothea. "I would letter them all, and then make a list of subjects
under each letter."
Mr. Casaubon gravely smiled approval, and said to Mr. Brooke, "You

have an excellent secretary at hand, you perceive."
"No, no," said Mr. Brooke, shaking his head; "I cannot let young ladies
meddle with my documents. Young ladies are too flighty."
Dorothea felt hurt. Mr. Casaubon would think that her uncle had some
special reason for delivering this opinion, whereas the remark lay in his
mind as lightly as the broken wing of an insect among all the other
fragments there, and a chance current had sent it alighting on her.
When the two girls were in the drawing-room alone, Celia said--
"How very ugly Mr. Casaubon is!"
"Celia! He is one of the most distinguished-looking men I ever saw. He
is remarkably like the portrait of Locke. He has the same deep
eye-sockets."
"Had Locke those two white moles with hairs on them?"
"Oh, I dare say! when people of a certain sort looked at him," said
Dorothea, walking away a little.
"Mr. Casaubon is so sallow."
"All the better. I suppose you admire a man with the complexion of a
cochon de lait."
"Dodo!" exclaimed Celia, looking after her in surprise. "I never heard
you make such a comparison before."
"Why should I make it before the occasion came? It is a good
comparison: the match is perfect."
Miss Brooke was clearly forgetting herself, and Celia thought so.
"I wonder you show temper, Dorothea."
"It is so painful in you, Celia, that you will look at human beings as if

they were merely animals with a toilet, and never see the great soul in a
man's face."
"Has Mr. Casaubon a great soul?" Celia was not without a touch of
naive malice.
"Yes, I believe he has," said Dorothea, with the full voice of decision.
"Everything I see in him corresponds to his pamphlet on Biblical
Cosmology."
"He talks very little," said Celia
"There is no one for him to talk to."
Celia thought privately, "Dorothea quite despises Sir James Chettam; I
believe she would not accept him." Celia felt that this was a pity. She
had never been deceived as to the object of the baronet's interest.
Sometimes, indeed, she had reflected that Dodo would perhaps not
make a husband happy who had not her way of looking at things; and
stifled in the depths of her heart was the feeling that her sister was too
religious for family comfort. Notions and scruples were like spilt
needles, making one afraid of treading, or sitting down, or even eating.
When Miss Brooke was at the tea-table, Sir James came to sit down by
her, not having felt her mode of answering him at all offensive. Why
should he? He thought it probable that Miss Brooke liked him, and
manners must be very marked indeed before they cease to be
interpreted by preconceptions either confident or distrustful. She was
thoroughly charming to him, but of course he theorized a little about
his attachment. He was made of excellent human dough, and had the
rare merit of knowing that his talents, even if let loose, would not set
the smallest stream in the county on fire: hence he liked the prospect of
a wife to whom he could say, "What shall we do?" about this or that;
who could help her husband out with reasons, and would also have the
property qualification for doing so. As to the excessive religiousness
alleged against Miss Brooke, he had a very indefinite notion of what it
consisted in, and thought that it would die out with marriage. In short,
he felt himself to be in love in the right place, and was ready to endure

a great deal of predominance, which, after all, a man could always put
down when he liked. Sir James had no idea that he should ever like to
put down the predominance of this handsome girl, in whose cleverness
he delighted. Why not? A man's mind--what there is of it--has always
the advantage of being masculine,--as the smallest birch-tree is of a
higher kind than the most soaring palm,--and even his ignorance is of a
sounder quality. Sir James might not have originated this estimate; but
a kind Providence furnishes the limpest personality with a little gunk or
starch in the form of tradition.
"Let me hope that you will rescind that resolution about the horse, Miss
Brooke," said the persevering admirer. "I assure you, riding is the most
healthy of exercises."
"I am aware of it," said Dorothea, coldly. "I think it would do Celia
good--if she would take to it."
"But