to him as a
matter of duty that he ought to put himself in possession of Mrs.
Bold's hand and fortune, and at first he had so regarded it. About
her he had thought but little. It was the customary thing for men
situated as he was to marry for money, and there was no reason why
he should not do what others around him did. And so he consented.
But now he began to see the matter in another light. He was setting
himself down to catch this woman, as a cat sits to catch a mouse.
He was to catch her, and swallow her up, her and her child, and her
houses and land, in order that he might live on her instead of on
his father. There was a cold, calculating, cautious cunning about
this quite at variance with Bertie's character. The prudence of the
measure was quite as antagonistic to his feelings as the iniquity.

And then, should he be successful, what would be the reward? Having
satisfied his creditors with half of the widow's fortune, he would be
allowed to sit down quietly at Barchester, keeping economical house
with the remainder. His duty would be to rock the cradle of the
late Mr. Bold's child, and his highest excitement a demure party at
Plumstead Rectory, should it ultimately turn out that the archdeacon
would be sufficiently reconciled to receive him.

There was very little in the programme to allure such a man as Bertie
Stanhope. Would not the Carrara workshop, or whatever worldly career
fortune might have in store for him, would not almost anything be
better than this? The lady herself was undoubtedly all that was
desirable, but the most desirable lady becomes nauseous when she has
to be taken as a pill. He was pledged to his sister, however, and let
him quarrel with whom he would, it behoved him not to quarrel with
her. If she were lost to him, all would be lost that he could ever
hope to derive henceforward from the paternal roof-tree. His mother
was apparently indifferent to his weal or woe, to his wants or his
warfare. His father's brow got blacker and blacker from day to day,
as the old man looked at his hopeless son. And as for Madeline--poor
Madeline, whom of all of them he liked the best--she had enough to do
to shift for herself. No; come what might, he must cling to his sister
and obey her behests, let them be ever so stern--or at the very least
seem to obey them. Could not some happy deceit bring him through in
this matter, so that he might save appearances with his sister and
yet not betray the widow to he