ay just
what he thought, but he became irritable. And yet, when after some
resistance he had consented to take the Casaubons to his friend's
studio, he had been allured by the gratification of his pride in being
the person who could grant Naumann such an opportunity of studying her
loveliness--or rather her divineness, for the ordinary phrases which
might apply to mere bodily prettiness were not applicable to her.
(Certainly all Tipton and its neighborhood, as well as Dorothea
herself, would have been surprised at her beauty being made so much of.
In that part of the world Miss Brooke had been only a "fine young
woman.")

"Oblige me by letting the subject drop, Naumann. Mrs. Casaubon is not
to be talked of as if she were a model," said Will. Naumann stared at
him.

"Schon! I will talk of my Aquinas. The head is not a bad type, after
all. I dare say the great scholastic himself would have been flattered
to have his portrait asked for. Nothing like these starchy doctors for
vanity! It was as I thought: he cared much less for her portrait than
his own."

"He's a cursed white-blooded pedantic coxcomb," said Will, with
gnashing impetuosity. His obligations to Mr. Casaubon were not known
to his hearer, but Will himself was thinking of them, and wishing that
he could discharge them all by a check.

Naumann gave a shrug and said, "It is good they go away soon, my dear.
They are spoiling your fine temper."

All Will's hope and contrivance were now concentrated on seeing
Dorothea when she was alone. He only wanted her to take more emphatic
notice of him; he only wanted to be something more special in her
remembrance than he could yet believe himself likely to be. He was
rather impatient under that open ardent good-will, reach he saw was her
usual state of feeling. The remote worship of a woman throned out of
their reach plays a great part in men's lives, but in most cases the
worshipper longs for some queenly recognition, some approving sign by
which his soul's sovereign may cheer him without descending from her
high place. That was precisely what Will wanted. But there were
plenty of contradictions in his imaginative demands. It was beautiful
to see how Dorothea's eyes turned with wifely anxiety and beseeching to
Mr. Casaubon: she would have lost some of her halo if she had been
without that duteous preoccupation; and yet at the next moment the
husband's sandy absorption of such nectar was too intolerable;