"You will, James—won't you?" said Celia, taking her husband's hand.
"Oh, of course, if you like," said Sir James, pulling down his waistcoat, but unable yet to adjust his face good-humoredly.
"That is to say, if it is not to meet anybody else.':
"No, no, no," said Mr. Brooke, understanding the condition.
"Dorothea would not come, you know, unless you had been to see her."
When Sir James and Celia were alone, she said,
"Do you mind about my having the carriage to go to Lowick, James?"
"What, now, directly?" he answered, with some surprise.
"Yes, it is very important," said Celia.
"Remember, Celia, I cannot see her," said Sir James.
"Not if she gave up marrying?"
"What is the use of saying that?—however, I'm going to the stables.
I'll tell Briggs to bring the carriage round."
Celia thought it was of great use, if not to say that, at least to take a journey to Lowick in order to influence Dorothea's mind.
All through their girlhood she had felt that she could act on her sister by a word judiciously placed—by opening a little window for the daylight of her own understanding to enter among the strange colored lamps by which Dodo habitually saw.
And Celia the matron naturally felt more able to advise her childless sister.
How could any one understand Dodo so well as Celia did or love her so tenderly?
Dorothea, busy in her boudoir, felt a glow of pleasure at the sight of her sister so soon after the revelation of her intended marriage.
She had prefigured to herself, even with exaggeration, the disgust of her friends, and she had even feared that Celia might be kept aloof from her.
"O Kitty, I am delighted to see you!" said Dorothea, putting her hands on Celia's shoulders, and beaming on her.
"I almost thought you would not come to me."
"I have not brought Arthur, because I was in a hurry," said Celia, and they sat down on two small chairs opposite each other, with their knees touching.
"You know, Dodo, it is very bad," said Celia, in her placid guttural, looking as prettily free from humors as possible.
"You have disappointed us all so.
And I can't think that it ever will be—you never can go and live in that way.
And then there are all your plans!
You never can have thought of that.
James would have taken any trouble for you, and you might have gone on all your life doing what you liked."
"On the contrary, dear," said Dorothea,
"I never could do anything that I liked.
I have never carried out any plan yet."
"Because you always wanted things that wouldn't do.
But other plans would have come.
And how can you marry Mr. Ladislaw, that we none of us ever thought you could marry?
It shocks James so dreadfully.
And then it is all so different from what you have always been.
You would have Mr. Casaubon because he had such a great soul, and was so and dismal and learned; and now, to think of marrying Mr. Ladislaw, who has got no estate or anything.
I suppose it is because you must be making yourself uncomfortable in some way or other."
Dorothea laughed.
"Well, it is very serious, Dodo," said Celia, becoming more impressive.
"How will you live? and you will go away among queer people.
And I shall never see you—and you won't mind about little Arthur—and I thought you always would—"
Celia's rare tears had got into her eyes, and the corners of her mouth were agitated.
"Dear Celia," said Dorothea, with tender gravity, "if you don't ever see me, it will not be my fault."
"Yes, it will," said Celia, with the same touching distortion of her small features.
"How can I come to you or have you with me when James can't bear it?—that is because he thinks it is not right—he thinks you are so wrong, Dodo.
But you always were wrong: only I can't help loving you.
And nobody can think where you will live: where can you go?"
"I am going to London," said Dorothea.
"How can you always live in a street?