, which,
aloof as it seemed to be from the tenor of her life, always afterwards came back
to her at the touch of certain sensitive points in memory, just as the vision of
St Peter's at Rome was inwoven with moods of despondency. Scenes which make
vital changes in our neighbours' lot are but the background of our own, yet,
like a particular aspect of the fields and trees, they become associated for us
with the epochs of our own history, and make a part of that unity which lies in
the selection of our keenest consciousness.
    The dream-like association of something alien and ill-understood with the
deepest secrets of her experience seemed to mirror that sense of loneliness
which was due to the very ardour of Dorothea's nature. The country gentry of old
time lived in a rarefied social air: dotted apart on their stations up the
mountain they looked down with imperfect discrimination on the belts of thicker
life below. And Dorothea was not at ease in the perspective and chilliness of
that height.
    »I shall not look any more,« said Celia, after the train had entered the
church, placing herself a little behind her husband's elbow so that she could
slyly touch his coat with her cheek. »I daresay Dodo likes it: she is fond of
melancholy things and ugly people.«
    »I am fond of knowing something about the people I live among,« said
Dorothea, who had been watching everything with the interest of a monk on his
holiday tour. »It seems to me we know nothing of our neighbours, unless they are
cottagers. One is constantly wondering what sort of lives other people lead, and
how they take things. I am quite obliged to Mrs. Cadwallader for coming and
calling me out of the library.«
    »Quite right to feel obliged to me,« said Mrs. Cadwallader. »Your rich
Lowick farmers are as curious as any buffaloes or bisons, and I daresay you
don't half see them at church. They are quite different from your uncle's
tenants or Sir James's - monsters - farmers without landlords - one can't tell
how to class them.«
    »Most of these followers are not Lowick people,« said Sir James; »I suppose
they are legatees from a distance, or from Middlemarch. Lovegood tells me the
old fellow has left a good deal of money as well as land.«
    »Think of that now! when so many younger sons can't dine at their own
expense,« said Mrs. Cadwallader. »Ah,«
