Lydgate was bowing his neck under the yoke like a creature who had talons, but who had Reason too, which often reduces us to meekness. When he had spoken the last words in an imploring tone, Rosamond returned to the chair by his side. His self-blame gave her some hope that he would attend to her opinion, and she said—
“Why can you not put off having the inventory made? You can send the men away to-morrow when they come.”
“I shall not send them away,” said Lydgate, the peremptoriness rising again. Was it of any use to explain?
“If we left Middlemarch? there would of course be a sale, and that would do as well.”
“But we are not going to leave Middlemarch.”
“I am sure, Tertius, it would be much better to do so. Why can we not go to London? Or near Durham, where your family is known?”
“W
