pedient that he
should marry, and he did not know that he could marry much better.
Cecilia, when her mother died, would have twenty thousand pounds,
and that in his eyes had been sufficient. But he was about to make
her Lady Geraldine, and the more that he thought of this, the more
grateful it had appeared to him that she should be to him. Then by
degrees, while he had expected from her expressions of gratitude,
she had rebelled against him! Of the meaning of this he had not been
quite conscious, but had nevertheless felt it necessary that he
should dominate her spirit. Up to the moment in which this interview
had begun he had thought that he was learning to do so. She had not
dared to ask him questions which would have been so natural, or to
demand from him services to which she was entitled. It was thus that
he had regarded her conduct. But he had never feared for a moment but
that he was on the road to success. Up to the moment at which he had
entered the room he had thought that he was progressing favourably.
His Cecilia was becoming tame in his hands, as was necessary. He
had then been altogether taken aback and surprised by her statement
to him, and could not for some moments get over his feeling of
amazement. At last he uttered a low whistle, and then walked slowly
out of the house. At the front door he found his horse, and, mounting
it, rode back into Exeter. As he did so he began to inquire of
himself whether this step which the girl had determined to take was
really a misfortune to him or the reverse. He had hardly as yet asked
himself any such question since the day on which he had first become
engaged to her. He had long thought of marrying, and one girl after
another had been rejected by him as he had passed them in review
through his thoughts. Then had come Cecilia's turn, and she had
seemed to answer the purpose. There had been about her an especial
dignity which had suited his views of matrimonial life. She was a
young woman as to whom all his friends would say that he had done
well in marrying her. But by degrees there had come upon him a
feeling of the general encumbrance of a wife. Would she not interfere
with him? Would she not wish to hinder him when he chose to lead a
bachelor's life? Newmarket for instance, and his London clubs, and
his fishing in Norway,--would she not endeavour to set her foot
upon them? Would it not be well that he should teach her that she
would not be allowed to interfere? He