Opening her own letter Dorothea saw that it was a lively continuation
of his remonstrance with her fanatical sympathy and her want of sturdy
neutral delight in things as they were--an outpouring of his young
vivacity which it was impossible to read just now. She had immediately
to consider what was to be done about the other letter: there was still
time perhaps to prevent Will from coming to Lowick. Dorothea ended by
giving the letter to her uncle, who was still in the house, and begging
him to let Will know that Mr. Casaubon had been ill, and that his
health would not allow the reception of any visitors.
No one more ready than Mr. Brooke to write a letter: his only
difficulty was to write a short one, and his ideas in this case
expanded over the three large pages and the inward foldings. He had
simply said to Dorothea--
"To be sure, I will write, my dear. He's a very clever young
fellow--this young Ladislaw--I dare say will be a rising young man.
It's a good letter--marks his sense of things, you know. However, I
will tell him about Casaubon."
But the end of Mr. Brooke's pen was a thinking organ, evolving
sentences, especially of a benevolent kind, before the rest of his mind
could well overtake them. It expressed regrets and proposed remedies,
which, when Mr. Brooke read them, seemed felicitously
worded--surprisingly the right thing, and determined a sequel which he
had never before thought of. In this case, his pen found it such a pity
young Ladislaw should not have come into the neighborhood just at
that time, in order that Mr. Brooke might make his acquaintance more
fully, and that they might go over the long-neglected Italian drawings
together--it also felt such an interest in a young man who was starting
in life with a stock of ideas--that by the end of the second page it
had persuaded Mr. Brooke to invite young Ladislaw, since he could not
be received at Lowick, to come to Tipton Grange. Why not? They could
find a great many things to do together, and this was a period of
peculiar growth--the political horizon was expanding, and--in short,
Mr. Brooke's pen went off into a little speech which it had lately
reported for that imperfectly edited organ the "Middlemarch Pioneer."
While Mr. Brooke was sealing this letter, he felt elated with an influx
of dim projects:--a young man capable of putting ideas into form, the
"Pioneer" purchased to clear the pathway for a new candidate, documents
utilized--who knew what might come of it all? Since Celia was going to
marry immediately, it would be very pleasant to have a young fellow at
table with him, at least for a time.