“Then, why don’t you extend your liberality
to others?” said Will, still nettled.
“My personal independence is as important to
me as yours is to you. You have no more reason
to imagine that I have personal expectations from
Brooke, than I have to imagine that you have personal
expectations from Bulstrode. Motives are points
of honor, I suppose— nobody can prove them.
But as to money and place in the world.”
Will ended, tossing back his head, “I think it
is pretty clear that I am not determined by considerations
of that sort.”
“You quite mistake me, Ladislaw,” said
Lydgate, surprised. He had been preoccupied
with his own vindication, and had been blind to what
Ladislaw might infer on his own account. “I
beg your pardon for unintentionally annoying you.
In fact, I should rather attribute to you a romantic
disregard of your own worldly interests. On the
political question, I referred simply to intellectual
bias.”
“How very unpleasant you both are this evening!”
said Rosamond. “I cannot conceive why money
should have been referred to. Polities and Medicine
are sufficiently disagreeable to quarrel upon.
You can both of you go on quarrelling with all the
world and with each other on those two topics.”
Rosamond looked mildly neutral as she said this, rising
to ring the bell, and then crossing to her work-table.
“Poor Rosy!” said Lydgate, putting out
his hand to her as she was passing him. “Disputation
is not amusing to cherubs. Have some music.
Ask Ladislaw to sing with you.”
When Will was gone Rosamond said to her husband, “What
put you out of temper this evening, Tertius?”
“Me? It was Ladislaw who was out of temper.
He is like a bit of tinder.”
“But I mean, before that. Something had
vexed you before you came in, you looked cross.
And that made you begin to dispute with Mr. Ladislaw.
You hurt me very much when you look so, Tertius.”
“Do I? Then I am a brute,” said
Lydgate, caressing her penitently.
“What vexed you?”
“Oh, outdoor things—business.”
It was really a letter insisting on the payment of
a bill for furniture. But Rosamond was expecting
to have a baby, and Lydgate wished to save her from
any perturbation.
Was never true love loved
in vain,
For truest love is highest
gain.
No art can make it: it
must spring
Where elements are fostering.
So
in heaven’s spot and hour
Springs
the little native flower,
Downward
root and upward eye,
Shapen
by the earth and sky.
