Chapter IV

“Sir James seems determined to do everything you wish,” said Celia, as they were driving home from an inspection of the new building-site.

“He is a good creature, and more sensible than any one would imagine,” said Dorothea, inconsiderately.

“You mean that he appears silly.”

“No, no,” said Dorothea, recollecting herself, and laying her hand on her sister’s a moment, “but he does not talk equally well on all subjects.”

“I should think none but disagreeable people do,” said Celia, in her usual purring way. “They must be very dreadful to live with. Only think! at breakfast, and always.”

Dorothea laughed. “O Kitty, you are a wonderful creature!” She pinched Celia’s chin, being in the mood now to think her very winning and lovely—fit hereafter to be an eternal cherub, and if it were not doctrinally wrong to say so, hardly more in need of salvation than a squirrel.

Here was a fresh shock. Dorothea’s ardent nature, which had found so lofty a conception of the world, now encountered the small, smiling certainty of her sister — and for the first time she wondered whether her own vision had been built on too slender a foundation.

She sat silent in the carriage, looking out at the hedgerows with a kind of soft indignation, and resolved that she would not be ashamed of her hopes, though they had been laughed at.