“Oh, why?” said Sir James, as they walked forward.

“I believe all the petting that is given them does not make them happy.  They are too helpless:  their lives are too frail.  A weasel or a mouse that gets its own living is more interesting.  I like to think that the animals about us have souls something like our own, and either carry on their own little affairs or can be companions to us, like Monk here.  Those creatures are parasitic.”

“I am so glad I know that you do not like them,” said good Sir James.  “I should never keep them for myself, but ladies usually are fond of these Maltese dogs.  Here, John, take this dog, will you?”

The objectionable puppy, whose nose and eyes were equally black and expressive, was thus got rid of, since Miss Brooke decided that it had better not have been born.  But she felt it necessary to explain.

“You must not judge of Celia’s feeling from mine.  I think she likes these small pets.  She had a tiny terrier once, which she was very fond of.  It made me unhappy, because I was afraid of treading on it.  I am rather short-sighted.”

“You have your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke, and it is always a good opinion.”

What answer was possible to such stupid complimenting?

“Do you know, I envy you that,” Sir James said, as they continued walking at the rather brisk pace set by Dorothea.

“I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“Your power of forming an opinion.  I can form an opinion of persons.  I know when I like people.  But about other matters, do you know, I have often a difficulty in deciding.  One hears very sensible things said on opposite sides.”

“Or that seem sensible.  Perhaps we don’t always discriminate between sense and nonsense.”

Dorothea felt that she was rather rude.

“Exactly,” said Sir James.  “But you seem to have the power of discrimination.”

“On the contrary, I am often unable to decide.  But that is from ignorance.  The right conclusion is there all the same, though I am unable to see it.”

“I think there are few who would see it more readily.  Do you know, Lovegood was telling me yesterday that you had the best notion in the world of a plan for cottages—­quite wonderful for a young lady, he thought.  You had a real genus, to use his expression.  He said you wanted Mr. Brooke to build a new set of cottages, but he seemed to think it hardly probable that your uncle would consent.  Do you know, that is one of the things I wish to do—­I mean, on my own estate.  I should be so glad to carry out that plan of yours, if you would let me see it.  Of course, it is sinking money; that is why people object to it.  Laborers can never pay rent to make it answer.  But, after all, it is worth doing.”

“Worth doing! yes, indeed,” said Dorothea, energetically, forgetting her previous small vexations.  “I think we deserve to be beaten out of our beautiful houses with a scourge of small cords—­all of us who let tenants live in such sties as we see round us.  Life in cottages might be happier than ours, if they were real houses fit for human beings from whom we expect duties and affections.”