"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
miniaturewhich 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.