Lydgate at last seated himself, not in his usual chair,
but in one nearer to Rosamond, leaning aside in it towards her,
and looking at her gravely before he reopened the sad subject.
He had conquered himself so far, and was about to speak with a sense
of solemnity, as on an occasion which was not to be repeated.
He had even opened his lips, when Rosamond, letting her hands fall,
looked at him and said--
"Surely, Tertius--"
"Well?"
"Surely now at last you have given up the idea of staying in Middlemarch.
I cannot go on living here. Let us go to London. Papa, and every
one else, says you had better go. Whatever misery I have to put
up with, it will be easier away from here."
Lydgate felt miserably jarred. Instead of that critical outpouring
for which he had prepared himself with effort, here was the old
round to be gone through again. He could not bear it. With a quick
change of countenance he rose and went out of the room.
Perhaps if he had been strong enough to persist in his determination
to be the more because she was less, that evening might have had
a better issue. If his energy could have borne down that check,
he might still have wrought on Rosamond's vision and will.
We cannot be sure that any natures, however inflexible or peculiar,
will resist this effect from a more massive being than their own.
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