Middlemarch

The morning after the dinner, Celia has escaped to the vicarage; Dorothea and Casaubon have a long private conversation. He explains the full scope of his great work: to demonstrate that all the world's mythical systems — every erratic mythical fragment across every culture — are corruptions of a single tradition originally revealed. His notes already fill a formidable range of volumes; the crowning task is to condense them. He explains this to Dorothea almost as he would to a fellow-student. She is entirely captivated. "Here was a living Bossuet, whose work would reconcile complete knowledge with devoted piety; here was a modern Augustine who united the glories of doctor and saint." She thinks to herself: "He thinks a whole world of which my thought is but a poor twopenny mirror." Casaubon stays longer than intended. Before he leaves, during a walk on the gravelled terrace, he mentions — with the careful precision of a diplomatic envoy — that he feels the disadvantage of loneliness, the need for the cheerful companionship that youth can bring to the serious toils of maturity. He does not repeat himself: in his experience, a statement clearly delivered need only be made once. After he drives away, Dorothea walks through the park with the dog Monk, her mind already building the vision of a possible future. "It would be like marrying Pascal," she thinks. "I should learn to see the truth by the same light as great men have seen it by." She checks herself for presumption — but not very hard. Sir James Chettam appears on horseback, bringing a Maltese puppy as a gift. Dorothea is annoyed by the interruption but warms to him again when the conversation turns to cottage plans. He is enthusiastic and practically capable, and agrees to carry out her designs on his own estate. Celia watches and sees clearly what Dorothea cannot: Sir James believes he is making progress. Casaubon makes further visits; Dorothea is confirmed in all her impressions of him, though she notes with some concern that he shows no interest in building cottages — diverting the subject instead to the extremely narrow accommodation of ancient Egyptians.