 was a set-off
against the obligation. It was a question whether gratitude which refers to what
is done for one's self ought not to give way to indignation at what is done
against another. And Casaubon had done a wrong to Dorothea in marrying her. A
man was bound to know himself better than that, and if he chose to grow grey
crunching bones in a cavern, he had no business to be luring a girl into his
companionship. »It is the most horrible of virgin-sacrifices,« said Will; and he
painted to himself what were Dorothea's inward sorrows as if he had been writing
a choric wail. But he would never lose sight of her: he would watch over her -
if he gave up everything else in life he would watch over her, and she should
know that she had one slave in the world. Will had - to use Sir Thomas Browne's
phrase - a »passionate prodigality« of statement both to himself and others. The
simple truth was that nothing then invited him so strongly as the presence of
Dorothea.
    Invitations of the formal kind had been wanting, however, for Will had never
been asked to go to Lowick. Mr. Brooke, indeed, confident of doing everything
agreeable which Casaubon, poor fellow, was too much absorbed to think of, had
arranged to bring Ladislaw to Lowick several times (not neglecting meanwhile to
introduce him elsewhere on every opportunity as »a young relative of
Casaubon's«). And though Will had not seen Dorothea alone, their interviews had
been enough to restore her former sense of young companionship with one who was
cleverer than herself, yet seemed ready to be swayed by her. Poor Dorothea
before her marriage had never found much room in other minds for what she cared
most to say; and she had not, as we know, enjoyed her husband's superior
instruction so much as she had expected. If she spoke with any keenness of
interest to Mr. Casaubon, he heard her with an air of patience as if she had
given a quotation from the Delectus familiar to him from his tender years, and
sometimes mentioned curtly what ancient sects or personages had held similar
ideas, as if there were too much of that sort in stock already; at other times
he would inform her that she was mistaken, and reassert what her remark had
questioned.
    But Will Ladislaw always seemed to see more in what she said than she
herself saw. Dorothea had little vanity, but she had the ardent woman's need to
rule beneficently by making the joy of another soul.
