“Thank you, uncle,” said Dorothea, in a clear unwavering tone.  “I am very grateful to Mr. Casaubon.  If he makes me an offer, I shall accept him.  I admire and honor him more than any man I ever saw.”

Mr. Brooke paused a little, and then said in a lingering low tone, “Ah? . . .  Well!  He is a good match in some respects.  But now, Chettam is a good match.  And our land lies together.  I shall never interfere against your wishes, my dear.  People should have their own way in marriage, and that sort of thing—­up to a certain point, you know.  I have always said that, up to a certain point.  I wish you to marry well; and I have good reason to believe that Chettam wishes to marry you.  I mention it, you know.”

“It is impossible that I should ever marry Sir James Chettam,” said Dorothea.  “If he thinks of marrying me, he has made a great mistake.”

“That is it, you see.  One never knows.  I should have thought Chettam was just the sort of man a woman would like, now.”

“Pray do not mention him in that light again, uncle,” said Dorothea, feeling some of her late irritation revive.

Mr. Brooke wondered, and felt that women were an inexhaustible subject of study, since even he at his age was not in a perfect state of scientific prediction about them.  Here was a fellow like Chettam with no chance at all.

“Well, but Casaubon, now.  There is no hurry—­I mean for you.  It’s true, every year will tell upon him.  He is over five-and-forty, you know.  I should say a good seven-and-twenty years older than you.  To be sure,—­if you like learning and standing, and that sort of thing, we can’t have everything.  And his income is good—­he has a handsome property independent of the Church—­his income is good.  Still he is not young, and I must not conceal from you, my dear, that I think his health is not over-strong.  I know nothing else against him.”

“I should not wish to have a husband very near my own age,” said Dorothea, with grave decision.  “I should wish to have a husband who was above me in judgment and in all knowledge.”

Mr. Brooke repeated his subdued, “Ah?—­I thought you had more of your own opinion than most girls.  I thought you liked your own opinion—­liked it, you know.”

“I cannot imagine myself living without some opinions, but I should wish to have good reasons for them, and a wise man could help me to see which opinions had the best foundation, and would help me to live according to them.”

“Very true.  You couldn’t put the thing better—­couldn’t put it better, beforehand, you know.  But there are oddities in things,” continued Mr. Brooke, whose conscience was really roused to do the best he could for his niece on this occasion.  “Life isn’t cast in a mould—­not cut out by rule and line, and that sort of thing.  I never married myself, and it will be the better for you and yours.  The fact is, I never loved any one well enough to put myself into a noose for them.  It is a noose, you know.  Temper, now.  There is temper.  And a husband likes to be master.”