n't dine at their own
expense," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Ah," turning round at the sound of
the opening door, "here is Mr. Brooke. I felt that we were incomplete
before, and here is the explanation. You are come to see this odd
funeral, of course?"

"No, I came to look after Casaubon--to see how he goes on, you know.
And to bring a little news--a little news, my dear," said Mr. Brooke,
nodding at Dorothea as she came towards him. "I looked into the
library, and I saw Casaubon over his books. I told him it wouldn't do:
I said, 'This will never do, you know: think of your wife, Casaubon.'
And he promised me to come up. I didn't tell him my news: I said, he
must come up."

"Ah, now they are coming out of church," Mrs. Cadwallader exclaimed.
"Dear me, what a wonderfully mixed set! Mr. Lydgate as doctor, I
suppose. But that is really a good looking woman, and the fair young
man must be her son. Who are they, Sir James, do you know?"

"I see Vincy, the Mayor of Middlemarch; they are probably his wife and
son," said Sir James, looking interrogatively at Mr. Brooke, who nodded
and said--

"Yes, a very decent family--a very good fellow is Vincy; a credit to
the manufacturing interest. You have seen him at my house, you know."

"Ah, yes: one of your secret committee," said Mrs. Cadwallader,
provokingly.

"A coursing fellow, though," said Sir James, with a fox-hunter's
disgust.

"And one of those who suck the life out of the wretched handloom
weavers in Tipton and Freshitt. That is how his family look so fair
and sleek," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Those dark, purple-faced people
are an excellent foil. Dear me, they are like a set of jugs! Do look
at Humphrey: one might fancy him an ugly archangel towering above them
in his white surplice."

"It's a solemn thing, though, a funeral," said Mr. Brooke, "if you take
it in that light, you know."

"But I am not taking it in that light. I can't wear my solemnity too
often, else it will go to rags. It was time the old man died, and none
of these people are sorry."

"How piteous!" said Dorothea. "This funeral seems to me the most
dismal thing I ever saw. It is a blot on the morning I cannot bear to
think that any one should die and leave no love behind."

She was going to say more, but she saw her husband enter and seat
himself a little in the background. The difference his presence made
to her was not always a happy one: she felt that he often inwardly
object