“No hurry, my dear,” said Mr. Brooke, quietly.  “By-and-by, you know, you can go, if you like.  But I cast my eyes over things in the desks and drawers—­there was nothing—­nothing but deep subjects, you know—­besides the will.  Everything can be done by-and-by.  As to the living, I have had an application for interest already—­ I should say rather good.  Mr. Tyke has been strongly recommended to me—­I had something to do with getting him an appointment before.  An apostolic man, I believe—­the sort of thing that would suit you, my dear.”

“I should like to have fuller knowledge about him, uncle, and judge for myself, if Mr. Casaubon has not left any expression of his wishes.  He has perhaps made some addition to his will—­there may be some instructions for me,” said Dorothea, who had all the while had this conjecture in her mind with relation to her husband’s work.

“Nothing about the rectory, my dear—­nothing,” said Mr. Brooke, rising to go away, and putting out his hand to his nieces:  “nor about his researches, you know.  Nothing in the will.”

Dorothea’s lip quivered.

“Come, you must not think of these things yet, my dear. 
By-and-by, you know.”

“I am quite well now, uncle; I wish to exert myself.”

“Well, well, we shall see.  But I must run away now—­I have no end of work now—­it’s a crisis—­a political crisis, you know.  And here is Celia and her little man—­you are an aunt, you know, now, and I am a sort of grandfather,” said Mr. Brooke, with placid hurry, anxious to get away and tell Chettam that it would not be his (Mr. Brooke’s) fault if Dorothea insisted on looking into everything.

Dorothea sank back in her chair when her uncle had left the room, and cast her eyes down meditatively on her crossed hands.

“Look, Dodo! look at him!  Did you ever see anything like that?” said Celia, in her comfortable staccato.

“What, Kitty?” said Dorothea, lifting her eyes rather absently.

“What? why, his upper lip; see how he is drawing it down, as if he meant to make a face.  Isn’t it wonderful!  He may have his little thoughts.  I wish nurse were here.  Do look at him.”

A large tear which had been for some time gathering, rolled down Dorothea’s cheek as she looked up and tried to smile.

“Don’t be sad, Dodo; kiss baby.  What are you brooding over so?  I am sure you did everything, and a great deal too much.  You should be happy now.”

“I wonder if Sir James would drive me to Lowick.  I want to look over everything—­to see if there were any words written for me.”

“You are not to go till Mr. Lydgate says you may go.  And he has not said so yet (here you are, nurse; take baby and walk up and down the gallery).  Besides, you have got a wrong notion in your head as usual, Dodo—­I can see that:  it vexes me.”