 Mr. Casaubon felt (and must not we, being impartial, feel with him a
little?) that no man had juster cause for disgust and suspicion than he. Young
Ladislaw, he was sure, meant to defy and annoy him, meant to win Dorothea's
confidence and sow her mind with disrespect, and perhaps aversion, towards her
husband. Some motive beneath the surface had been needed to account for Will's
sudden change of course in rejecting Mr. Casaubon's aid and quitting his
travels; and this defiant determination to fix himself in the neighbourhood by
taking up something so much at variance with his former choice as Mr. Brooke's
Middlemarch projects, revealed clearly enough that the undeclared motive had
relation to Dorothea. Not for one moment did Mr. Casaubon suspect Dorothea of
any doubleness: he had no suspicions of her, but he had (what was little less
uncomfortable) the positive knowledge that her tendency to form opinions about
her husband's conduct was accompanied with a disposition to regard Will Ladislaw
favourably and be influenced by what he said. His own proud reticence had
prevented him from ever being undeceived in the supposition that Dorothea had
originally asked her uncle to invite Will to his house.
    And now, on receiving Will's letter, Mr. Casaubon had to consider his duty.
He would never have been easy to call his action anything else than duty; but in
this case, contending motives thrust him back into negations.
    Should he apply directly to Mr. Brooke, and demand of that troublesome
gentleman to revoke his proposal? Or should he consult Sir James Chettam, and
get him to concur in remonstrance against a step which touched the whole family?
In either case Mr. Casaubon was aware that failure was just as probable as
success. It was impossible for him to mention Dorothea's name in the matter, and
without some alarming urgency Mr. Brooke was as likely as not, after meeting all
representations with apparent assent, to wind up by saying, »Never fear,
Casaubon! Depend upon it, young Ladislaw will do you credit. Depend upon it, I
have put my finger on the right thing.« And Mr. Casaubon shrank nervously from
communicating on the subject with Sir James Chettam, between whom and himself
there had never been any cordiality, and who would immediately think of Dorothea
without any mention of her.
    Poor Mr. Casaubon was distrustful of everybody's feeling towards him,
especially as a husband. To let any one suppose that he was jealous would be to
admit their (suspected) view of his disadvantages: to
