Thus Mr. Casaubon was in one of his busiest epochs, and as I began to say a little while ago, Dorothea joined him early in the library where he had breakfasted alone. Celia at this time was on a second visit to Lowick, probably the last before her marriage, and was in the drawing-room expecting Sir James.
Dorothea had learned to read the signs of her husband’s mood, and she saw that the morning had become more foggy there during the last hour. She was going silently to her desk when he said, in that distant tone which implied that he was discharging a disagreeable duty—
“Dorothea, here is a letter for you, which was enclosed in one addressed to me.”
It was a letter of two pages, and she immediately looked at the signature.
“Mr. Ladislaw! What can he have to say to me?” she exclaimed, i
