 remarkable to Celia that a dinner guest should be
announced to her sister beforehand, but, her eyes following the same direction
as her uncle's, she was struck with the peculiar effect of the announcement on
Dorothea. It seemed as if something like the reflection of a white sunlit wing
had passed across her features, ending in one of her rare blushes. For the first
time it entered into Celia's mind that there might be something more between Mr.
Casaubon and her sister than his delight in bookish talk and her delight in
listening. Hitherto she had classed the admiration for this »ugly« and learned
acquaintance with the admiration for Monsieur Liret at Lausanne, also ugly and
learned. Dorothea had never been tired of listening to old Monsieur Liret when
Celia's feet were as cold as possible, and when it had really become dreadful to
see the skin of his bald head moving about. Why then should her enthusiasm not
extend to Mr. Casaubon simply in the same way as to Monsieur Liret? And it
seemed probable that all learned men had a sort of schoolmaster's view of young
people.
    But now Celia was really startled at the suspicion which had darted into her
mind. She was seldom taken by surprise in this way, her marvellous quickness in
observing a certain order of signs generally preparing her to expect such
outward events as she had an interest in. Not that she now imagined Mr. Casaubon
to be already an accepted lover: she had only begun to feel disgust at the
possibility that anything in Dorothea's mind could tend towards such an issue.
Here was something really to vex her about Dodo: it was all very well not to
accept Sir James Chettam, but the idea of marrying Mr. Casaubon! Celia felt a
sort of shame mingled with a sense of the ludicrous. But perhaps Dodo, if she
were really bordering on such an extravagance, might be turned away from it:
experience had often shown that her impressibility might be calculated on. The
day was damp, and they were not going to walk out, so they both went up to their
sitting-room; and there Celia observed that Dorothea, instead of settling down
with her usual diligent interest to some occupation, simply leaned her elbow on
an open book and looked out of the window at the great cedar silvered with the
damp. She herself had taken up the making of a toy for the curate's children,
and was not going to enter on any subject too precipitately.
    Dorothea was in fact thinking that it was desirable for Celia to know of the
momentous change in Mr. Casaubon
