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"I shall never hear from you. And you will forget all about me."

"No," said Dorothea, "I shall never forget you. I have never



forgotten any one whom I once knew. My life has never been crowded,

and seems not likely to be so. And I have a great deal of space



for memory at Lowick, haven't I?" She smiled.

"Good God!" Will burst out passionately, rising, with his hat still



in his hand, and walking away to a marble table, where he suddenly

turned and leaned his back against it. The blood had mounted to his



face and neck, and he looked almost angry. It had seemed to him

as if they were like two creatures slowly turning to marble in each



other's presence, while their hearts were conscious and their eyes

were yearning. But there was no help for it. It should never be true



of him that in this meeting to which he had come with bitter resolution

he had ended by a confession which might be interpreted into asking



for her fortune. Moreover, it was actually true that he was fearful

of the effect which such confessions might have on Dorothea herself.



She looked at him from that distance in some trouble, imagining that

there might hate been an offence in her words. But all the while



there was a current of thought in her about his probable want

of money, and the impossibility of her helping him. If her uncle



had been at home, something might have been done through him!

It was this preoccupation with the hardship of Will's wanting money,



while she had what ought to have been his share, which led her to say,

seeing that he remained silent and looked away from her--



"I wonder whether you would like to have that miniature

which hangs up-stairs--I mean that beautiful miniature OF



your grandmother. I think it is not right for me to keep it,

if you would wish to have it. It is wonderfully like you."



"You are very good," said Will, irritably. "No; I don't mind

about it. It is not very consoling to have one's own likeness.



It would be more consoling if others wanted to have it."

"I thought you would like to cherish her memory--I thought--



"Dorothea broke off an instant, her imagination suddenly warning

her away from Aunt Julia's history--"you would surely like to have



the miniature as a family memorial."

"Why should I have that, when I have nothing else! A man with only



a portmanteau for his stowage must keep his memorials in his head."

Will spoke at random: he was merely venting his petulance;



it was a little too exasperating to have his grandmother's portrait

offered him at that moment. But to Dorothea's feeling his words



had a peculiar sting. She rose and said with a touch of indignation

as well as hauteur--



"You are much the happier of us two, Mr. Ladislaw, to have nothing."

Will was startled. Whatever the words might be, the tone seemed



like a dismissal; and quitting his leaning posture, he walked

a little way towards her. Their eyes met, but with a strange



questioning gravity. Something was keeping their minds aloof,

and each was left to conjecture what was in the other. Will had



really never thought of himself as having a claim of inheritance

on the property which was held by Dorothea, and would have required



a narrative to make him understand her present feeling.

"I never felt it a misfortune to have nothing till now," he said.



"But poverty may be as bad as leprosy, if it divides us from what we

most care for."



The words cut Dorothea to the heart, and made her relent.

She answered in a tone of sad fellowship.



"Sorrow comes in so many ways. Two years ago I had no notion of that--

I mean of the unexpected way in which trouble comes, and ties our hands,



and makes us silent when we long to speak. I used to despise women

a little for not shaping their lives more, and doing better things.



I was very fond of doing as I liked, but I have almost given it up,"

she ended, smiling playfully.



"I have not given up doing as I like, but I can very seldom do it,"

said Will. He was standing two yards from her with his mind full



of contradictory desires and resolves--desiring some unmistakable

proof that she loved him, and yet dreading the position into which



such a proof might bring him. "The thing one most longs for may

be surrounded with conditions that would be intolerable."



At this moment Pratt entered and said, "Sir James Chettam

is in the library, madam."



"Ask Sir James to come in here," said Dorothea, immediately. It was

as if the same electric shock had passed through her and Will.



Each of them felt proudly resistant, and neither looked at the other,

while they awaited Sir James's entrance.






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