Lydgate sat paralyzed by opposing impulses: since no reasoning he could
apply to Rosamond seemed likely to conquer her assent, he wanted to
smash and grind some object on which he could at least produce an
impression, or else to tell her brutally that he was master, and she
must obey. But he not only dreaded the effect of such extremities on
their mutual life--he had a growing dread of Rosamond's quiet elusive
obstinacy, which would not allow any assertion of power to be final;
and again, she had touched him in a spot of keenest feeling by implying
that she had been deluded with a false vision of happiness in marrying
him. As to saying that he was master, it was not the fact. The very
resolution to which he had wrought himself by dint of logic and
honorable pride was beginning to relax under her torpedo contact. He
swallowed half his cup of coffee, and then rose to go.
"I may at least request that you will not go to Trumbull at
present--until it has been seen that there are no other means," said
Rosamond. Although she was not subject to much fear, she felt it safer
not to betray that she had written to Sir Godwin. "Promise me that you
will not go to him for a few weeks, or without telling me."
Lydgate gave a short laugh. "I think it is I who should exact a
promise that you will do nothing without telling me," he said, turning
his eyes sharply upon her, and then moving to the door.
"You remember that we are going to dine at papa's," said Rosamond,
wishing that he should turn and make a more thorough concession to her.
But he only said "Oh yes," impatiently, and went away. She held it to
be very odious in him that he did not think the painful propositions he
had had to make to her were enough, without showing so unpleasant a
temper. And when she put the moderate request that he would defer
going to Trumbull again, it was cruel in him not to assure her of what
he meant to do. She was convinced of her having acted in every way for
the best; and each grating or angry speech of Lydgate's served only as
an addition to the register of offences in her mind. Poor Rosamond for
months had begun to associate her husband with feelings of
disappointment, and the terribly inflexible relation of marriage had
lost its charm of encouraging delightful dreams. It had freed her from
the disagreeables of her father's house, but it had not given her
everything that she had wished and hoped. The Lydgate with whom she
had been in love had been a group of airy conditions for her, most of
which had disappeared, while their place had been taken by every-day
details which must be lived through slowly from hour to hour, not
floated through with a rapid selection of favorable aspects. The
habits of Lydgate's profession, his home preoccupation with scientific
subjects, which seemed to her almost like a morbid vampire's taste, his
peculiar views of things which had never entered into the dialogue of
courtship--all these continually alienating influences, even without
the fact of his having placed himself at a disadvantage in the town,
and without that first shock of revelation about Dover's debt, would
have made his presence dull to her. There was another presence which
ever since the early days of her marriage, until four months ago, had
been an agreeable excitement, but that was gone: Rosamond would not
confess to herself how much the consequent blank had to do with her
utter ennui; and it seemed to her (perhaps she was right) that an
invitation to Quallingham, and an opening for Lydgate to settle
elsewhere than in Middlemarch--in London, or somewhere likely to be
free from unpleasantness--would satisfy her quite well, and make her
indifferent to the absence of Will Ladislaw, towards whom she felt some
resentment for his exaltation of Mrs. Casaubon.