“Then, why don’t you extend your liberality to others?” said Will, still nettled.  “My personal independence is as important to me as yours is to you.  You have no more reason to imagine that I have personal expectations from Brooke, than I have to imagine that you have personal expectations from Bulstrode.  Motives are points of honor, I suppose—­ nobody can prove them.  But as to money and place in the world.”  Will ended, tossing back his head, “I think it is pretty clear that I am not determined by considerations of that sort.”

“You quite mistake me, Ladislaw,” said Lydgate, surprised.  He had been preoccupied with his own vindication, and had been blind to what Ladislaw might infer on his own account.  “I beg your pardon for unintentionally annoying you.  In fact, I should rather attribute to you a romantic disregard of your own worldly interests.  On the political question, I referred simply to intellectual bias.”

“How very unpleasant you both are this evening!” said Rosamond.  “I cannot conceive why money should have been referred to.  Polities and Medicine are sufficiently disagreeable to quarrel upon.  You can both of you go on quarrelling with all the world and with each other on those two topics.”

Rosamond looked mildly neutral as she said this, rising to ring the bell, and then crossing to her work-table.

“Poor Rosy!” said Lydgate, putting out his hand to her as she was passing him.  “Disputation is not amusing to cherubs.  Have some music.  Ask Ladislaw to sing with you.”

When Will was gone Rosamond said to her husband, “What put you out of temper this evening, Tertius?”

“Me?  It was Ladislaw who was out of temper.  He is like a bit of tinder.”

“But I mean, before that.  Something had vexed you before you came in, you looked cross.  And that made you begin to dispute with Mr. Ladislaw.  You hurt me very much when you look so, Tertius.”

“Do I?  Then I am a brute,” said Lydgate, caressing her penitently.

“What vexed you?”

“Oh, outdoor things—­business.”  It was really a letter insisting on the payment of a bill for furniture.  But Rosamond was expecting to have a baby, and Lydgate wished to save her from any perturbation.

CHAPTER XLVII.

    Was never true love loved in vain,
    For truest love is highest gain. 
    No art can make it:  it must spring
    Where elements are fostering. 
        So in heaven’s spot and hour
        Springs the little native flower,
        Downward root and upward eye,
        Shapen by the earth and sky.