"I have tried to learn a great deal since we were in Rome," said Dorothea.
"I can read Latin a little, and I am beginning to understand just a little Greek.
I can help Mr. Casaubon better now. I can find out references for him and save his eyes in many ways.
But it is very difficult to be learned; it seems as if people were worn out on the way to great thoughts, and can never enjoy them because they are too tired."
"If a man has a capacity for great thoughts, he is likely to overtake them before he is decrepit," said Will, with irrepressible quickness. But through certain sensibilities Dorothea was as quick as he, and seeing her face change, he added, immediately, "But it is quite true that the best minds have been sometimes overstrained in working out their ideas."
"You correct me," said Dorothea.
"I expressed myself ill.
I should have said that those who have great thoughts get too much worn in working them out.
I used to feel about that, even when I was a little girl; and it always seemed to me that the use I should like to make of my life would be to help some one who did great works, so that his burthen might be lighter."
Dorothea was led on to this bit of autobiography without any sense of making a revelation. But she had never before said anything to Will which threw so strong a light on her marriage.
He did not shrug his shoulders; and for want of that muscular outlet he thought the more irritably of beautiful lips kissing holy skulls and other emptinesses ecclesiastically enshrined.
Also he had to take care that his speech should not betray that thought.
"But you may easily carry the help too far," he said, "and get over-wrought yourself.
Are you not too much shut up?
You already look paler.
It would be better for Mr. Casaubon to have a secretary; he could easily get a man who would do half his work for him.
It would save him more effectually, and you need only help him in lighter ways."
"How can you think of that?" said Dorothea, in a tone of earnest remonstrance.
"I should have no happiness if I did not help him in his work.
What could I do?
There is no good to be done in Lowick.
The only thing I desire is to help him more.
And he objects to a secretary: please not to mention that again."
"Certainly not, now I know your feeling.
But I have heard both Mr. Brooke and Sir James Chettam express the same wish."
"Yes?" said Dorothea, "but they don't understand—they want me to be a great deal on horseback, and have the garden altered and new conservatories, to fill up my days.
I thought you could understand that one's mind has other wants," she added, rather impatiently—"besides, Mr. Casaubon cannot bear to hear of a secretary."
"My mistake is excusable," said Will.
"In old days I used to hear Mr. Casaubon speak as if he looked forward to having a secretary.
Indeed he held out the prospect of that office to me.
But I turned out to be—not good enough for it."
Dorothea was trying to extract out of this an excuse for her husband's evident repulsion, as she said, with a playful smile,
"You were not a steady worker enough."
"No," said Will, shaking his head backward somewhat after the manner of a spirited horse. And then, the old irritable demon prompting him to give another good pinch at the moth-wings of poor Mr. Casaubon's glory, he went on,
"And I have seen since that Mr. Casaubon does not like any one to overlook his work and know thoroughly what he is doing.
He is too doubtful—too uncertain of himself.
I may not be good for much, but he dislikes me because I disagree with him."
Will was not without his intentions to be always generous, but our tongues are little triggers which have usually been pulled before general intentions can be brought to bear.
And it was too intolerable that Casaubon's dislike of him should not be fairly accounted for to Dorothea.
Yet when he had spoken he was rather uneasy as to the effect on her.
But Dorothea was strangely quiet—not immediately indignant, as she had been on a like occasion in Rome.
And the cause lay deep.
She was no longer struggling against the perception of facts, but adjusting herself to their clearest perception; and now when she looked steadily at her husband's failure, still more at his possible consciousness of failure, she seemed to be looking along the one track where duty became tenderness.
Will's want of reticence might have been met with more severity, if he had not already been recommended to her mercy by her husband's dislike, which must seem hard to her till she saw better reason for it.
She did not answer at once, but after looking down ruminatingly she said, with some earnestness,
"Mr. Casaubon must have overcome his dislike of you so far as his actions were concerned: and that is admirable."
"Yes; he has shown a sense of justice in family matters.
It was an abominable thing that my grandmother should have been disinherited because she made what they called a mesalliance, though there was nothing to be said against her husband except that he was a Polish refugee who gave lessons for his bread."
"I wish I knew all about her!" said Dorothea.
"I wonder how she bore the change from wealth to poverty: I wonder whether she was happy with her husband!