“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? And you will be so poor. I could give you half my things, only how can I, when I never see you?”
“Bless you, Kitty,” said Dorothea, with gentle warmth. “Take comfort: perhaps James will forgive me some time.”
“But it would be much better if you would not be married,” said Celia, drying her eyes, and returning to her argument; “then there would be nothing uncomfortable. And you would not do what nobody thought you could do. James always said you ought to be a queen; but this is not at all being like a queen. You know what mistakes you have always been making, Dodo, and this is another. Nobody thinks Mr. Ladislaw a proper husband for you. And you said you would never be married again.”
“It is quite true that I might be a wiser person, Celia,” said Dorothea, “and that I might have done something better, if I had been better. But this is what I am going to do. I have promised to marry Mr. Ladislaw; and I am going to marry him.”
The tone in which Dorothea said this was a note that Celia had long learned to recognize. She was silent a few moments, and then said, as if she had dismissed all contest, “Is he very fond of you, Dodo?”
“I hope so. I am very fond of him.”
“That is nice,” said Celia, comfortably. “Only I rather you had such a sort of husband as James is, with a place very near, that I could drive to.”
Dorothea smiled, and Celia looked rather meditative. Presently she said, “I cannot think how it all came about.” Celia thought it would be pleasant to hear the story.
“I dare say not,” said-Dorothea, pinching her sister’s chin. “If you knew how it came about, it would not seem wonderful to you.”