Mr. Brooke, who had before heard only imperfect hints of it,
and was very uneasy that he had "gone a little too far"
in countenancing Bulstrode, now got himself fully informed,
and felt some benevolent sadness in talking to Mr. Farebrother
about the ugly light in which Lydgate had come to be regarded.
Mr. Farebrother was going to walk back to Lowick.
"Step into my carriage," said Mr. Brooke. "I am going round to see
Mrs. Casaubon. She was to come back from Yorkshire last night.
She will like to see me, you know."
So they drove along, Mr. Brooke chatting with good-natured hope
that there had not really been anything black in Lydgate's behavior--
a young fellow whom he had seen to be quite above the common mark,
when he brought a letter from his uncle Sir Godwin. Mr. Farebrother
said little: he was deeply mournful: with a keen perception of
human weakness, he could not be confident that under the pressure
of humiliating needs Lydgate had not fallen below himself.
When the carriage drove up to the gate of the Manor, Dorothea was
out on the gravel, and came to greet them.
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, "we have just come from a meeting--
a sanitary meeting, you know."
"Was Mr. Lydgate there?" said Dorothea, who looked full of health
and animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming
April lights.
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