 the fears of
affection.
    Dorothea was still hurt and agitated.
    »It is quite decided, then?« said Celia, in an awed undertone. »And uncle
knows?«
    »I have accepted Mr. Casaubon's offer. My uncle brought me the letter that
contained it; he knew about it beforehand.«
    »I beg your pardon, if I have said anything to hurt you, Dodo,« said Celia,
with a slight sob. She never could have thought that she should feel as she did.
There was something funereal in the whole affair, and Mr. Casaubon seemed to be
the officiating clergyman, about whom it would be indecent to make remarks.
    »Never mind, Kitty, do not grieve. We should never admire the same people. I
often offend in something of the same way; I am apt to speak too strongly of
those who don't please me.«
    In spite of this magnanimity Dorothea was still smarting: perhaps as much
from Celia's subdued astonishment as from her small criticisms. Of course all
the world round Tipton would be out of sympathy with this marriage. Dorothea
knew of no one who thought as she did about life and its best objects.
    Nevertheless before the evening was at an end she was very happy. In an
hour's tête-à-tête with Mr. Casaubon she talked to him with more freedom than
she had ever felt before, even pouring out her joy at the thought of devoting
herself to him, and of learning how she might best share and further all his
great ends. Mr. Casaubon was touched with an unknown delight (what man would not
have been?) at this childlike unrestrained ardour: he was not surprised (what
lover would have been?) that he should be the object of it.
    »My dear young lady - Miss Brooke - Dorothea!« he said, pressing her hand
between his hands, »this is a happiness greater than I had ever imagined to be
in reserve for me. That I should ever meet with a mind and person so rich in the
mingled graces which could render marriage desirable, was far indeed from my
conception. You have all - nay, more than all - those qualities which I have
ever regarded as the characteristic excellences of womanhood. The great charm of
your sex is its capability of an ardent self-sacrificing affection, and herein
we see its fitness to round and complete the existence of our own. Hitherto I
have known few pleasures save of the severer kind: my satisfactions have been
those of the solitary student. I have
