Chapter: They said of old the Soul had human shape,
    But smaller, subtler than the fleshly self,
    So wandered forth for airing when it pleased.
    And see! beside her cherub-face there floats
    A pale-lipped form aerial whispering
    Its promptings in that little shell her ear."


News is often dispersed as thoughtlessly and effectively as that pollen
which the bees carry off (having no idea how powdery they are) when
they are buzzing in search of their particular nectar.  This fine
comparison has reference to Fred Vincy, who on that evening at Lowick
Parsonage heard a lively discussion among the ladies on the news which
their old servant had got from Tantripp concerning Mr. Casaubon's
strange mention of Mr. Ladislaw in a codicil to his will made not long
before his death.  Miss Winifred was astounded to find that her brother
had known the fact before, and observed that Camden was the most
wonderful man for knowing things and not telling them; whereupon Mary
Garth said that the codicil had perhaps got mixed up with the habits of
spiders, which Miss Winifred never would listen to.  Mrs. Farebrother
considered that the news had something to do with their having only
once seen Mr. Ladislaw at Lowick, and Miss Noble made many small
compassionate mewings.

Fred knew little and cared less about Ladislaw and the Casaubons, and
his mind never recurred to that discussion till one day calling on
Rosamond at his mother's request to deliver a message as he passed, he
happened to see Ladislaw going away.  Fred and Rosamond had little to
say to each other now that marriage had removed her from collision with
the unpleasantness of brothers, and especially now that he had taken
what she held the stupid and even reprehensible step of giving up the
Church to take to such a business as Mr. Garth's. Hence Fred talked by
preference of what he considered indifferent news, and "a propos of
that young Ladislaw" mentioned what he had heard at Lowick Parsonage.

Now Lydgate, like Mr. Farebrother, knew a great deal more than he told,
and when he had once been set thinking about the relation between Will
and Dorothea his conjectures had gone beyond the fact.  He imagined
that there was a passionate attachment on both sides, and this struck
him as much too serious to gossip about.  He remembered Will's
irritability when he had mentioned Mrs. Casaubon, and was the more
circumspect.  On the whole his surmises, in addition to what he knew of
the fact, increased his friendliness and tolerance towards Ladislaw,
and made him understand the vacillation which kept him at Middlemarch
after he had said that he should go away.  It was significant of the
separateness between Lydgate's mind and Rosamond's that he had no
impulse to speak to her on the subject; indeed, he did not quite trust
her reticence towards Will.  And he was right there; though he had no
vision of the way in which her mind would act in urging her to speak.

When she repeated Fred's news to Lydgate, he said, "Take care you don't
drop the faintest hint to Ladislaw, Rosy.  He is likely to fly out as
if you insulted him.  Of course it is a painful affair."

Rosamond turned her neck and patted her hair, looking the image of
placid indifference.  But the next time Will came when Lydgate was
away, she spoke archly about his not going to London as he had
threatened.

"I know all about it.  I have a confidential little bird," said she,
showing very pretty airs of her head over the bit of work held high
between her active fingers.  "There is a powerful magnet in this
neighborhood."

"To be sure there is.  Nobody knows that better than you," said Will,
with light gallantry, but inwardly prepared to be angry.

"It is really the most charming romance: Mr. Casaubon jealous, and
foreseeing that there was no one else whom Mrs. Casaubon would so much
like to marry, and no one who would so much like to marry her as a
certain gentleman; and then laying a plan to spoil all by making her
forfeit her property if she did marry that gentleman--and then--and
then--and then--oh, I have no doubt the end will be thoroughly
romantic."

"Great God! what do you mean?" said Will, flushing over face and ears,
his features seeming to change as if he had had a violent shake.
"Don't joke; tell me what you mean."

"You don't really know?" said Rosamond, no longer playful, and desiring
nothing better than to tell in order that she might evoke effects.

"No!" he returned, impatiently.

"Don't know that Mr. Casaubon has left it in his will that if Mrs.
Casaubon marries you she is to forfeit all her property?"

"How do you know that it is true?" said Will, eagerly.

"My brother Fred heard it from the Farebrothers."  Will started up from
his chair and reached his hat.

"I dare say she likes you better than the property," said Rosamond,
looking at him from a distance.

"Pray don't say any more about it," said Will, in a hoarse undertone
extremely unlike his usual light voice.  "It is a foul insult to her
and to me."  Then he sat down absently, looking before him, but seeing
nothing.

"Now you are angry with _me_," said Rosamond.  "It is too bad to bear
_me_ malice.  You ought to be obliged to me for telling you."

"So I am," said Will, abruptly, speaking with that kind of double soul
which belongs to dreamers who answer questions.

"I expect to hear of the marriage," said Rosamond, playfully.

"Never!  You will never hear of the marriage!"

With those words uttered impetuously, Will rose, put out his hand to
Rosamond, still with the air of a somnambulist, and went away.

When he was gone, Rosamond left her chair and walked to the other end
of the room, leaning when she got there against a chiffonniere, and
looking out of the window wearily.  She was oppressed by ennui, and by
that dissatisfaction which in women's minds is continually turning into
a trivial jealousy, referring to no real claims, springing from no
deeper passion than the vague exactingness of egoism, and yet capable
of impelling action as well as speech.  "There really is nothing to
care for much," said poor Rosamond inwardly, thinking of the family at
Quallingham, who did not write to her; and that perhaps Tertius when he
came home would tease her about expenses.  She had already secretly
disobeyed him by asking her father to help them, and he had ended
decisively by saying, "I am more likely to want help myself."

 The gossip about how Mr. Casaubon's will made it impossible for Dorothea to marry Will Ladislaw without giving up her property eventually makes its way to Rosamond. Lydgate warns her never to mention it to Will, but she ignores his advice as usual. She flirtingly mentions it to Will the next time they're alone. He's immediately angry and upset, especially because of her careless flirtatiousness. He grabs his hat and leaves. Rosamond feels vaguely jealous. She wants everyone to be in love with her, and doesn't like that she's not the center of Will's universe. It wasn't the first time she'd gone against her husband's wishes that day - she had gone to her father to ask for money that morning, and he'd said no way. She's also depressed that Lydgate's rich relatives haven't written to her.

