 it impossible at that moment to enter into any
explanation.
    Mrs. Cadwallader's eyes, diverted from the churchyard, saw a good deal of
dumb show which was not so intelligible to her as she could have desired, and
could not repress the question, »Who is Mr. Ladislaw?«
    »A young relative of Mr. Casaubon's,« said Sir James, promptly. His
good-nature often made him quick and clear-seeing in personal matters, and he
had divined from Dorothea's glance at her husband that there was some alarm in
her mind.
    »A very nice young fellow - Casaubon has done everything for him,« explained
Mr. Brooke. »He repays your expense in him, Casaubon,« he went on, nodding
encouragingly. »I hope he will stay with me a long while and we shall make
something of my documents. I have plenty of ideas and facts, you know, and I can
see he is just the man to put them into shape - remembers what the right
quotations are, omne tulit punctum, and that sort of thing - gives subjects a
kind of turn. I invited him some time ago when you were ill, Casaubon: Dorothea
said you couldn't have anybody in the house, you know, and she asked me to
write.«
    Poor Dorothea felt that every word of her uncle's was about as pleasant as a
grain of sand in the eye to Mr. Casaubon. It would be altogether unfitting now
to explain that she had not wished her uncle to invite Will Ladislaw. She could
not in the least make clear to herself the reasons for her husband's dislike to
his presence - a dislike painfully impressed on her by the scene in the library;
but she felt the unbecomingness of saying anything that might convey a notion of
it to others. Mr. Casaubon, indeed, had not thoroughly represented those mixed
reasons to himself; irritated feeling with him, as with all of us, seeking
rather for justification than for self-knowledge. But he wished to repress
outward signs, and only Dorothea could discern the changes in her husband's face
before he observed with more of dignified bending and sing-song than usual -
    »You are exceedingly hospitable, my dear sir; and I owe you acknowledgments
for exercising your hospitality towards a relative of mine.«
    The funeral was ended now, and the churchyard was being cleared.
    »Now you can see him, Mrs. Cadwallader,« said Celia. »He is just like a
miniature of Mr. Casaubon's aunt that
