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business, but she felt equal to the occasion. That she should
be obliged to do what she intensely disliked, was an idea
which turned her quiet tenacity into active invention. Here
was a case in which it could not be enough simply to disobey
and be serenely, placidly obstinate: she must act according
to her judgment, and she said to herself that her judgment
was right—‘indeed, if it had not been, she would not have
wished to act on it.’
Mr. Trumbull was in the back-room of his office, and
received Rosamond with his finest manners, not only be-
cause he had much sensibility to her charms, but because
the good-natured fibre in him was stirred by his certainty
that Lydgate was in difficulties, and that this uncommonly
pretty woman—this young lady with the highest personal
attractions—was likely to feel the pinch of trouble— to find
herself involved in circumstances beyond her control. He
begged her to do him the honor to take a seat, and stood
before her trimming and comporting himself with an ea-
ger solicitude, which was chiefly benevolent. Rosamond’s
first question was, whether her husband had called on Mr.
Trumbull that morning, to speak about disposing of their
house.
‘Yes, ma’am, yes, he did; he did so,’ said the good auction-
eer, trying to throw something soothing into his iteration.
‘I was about to fulfil his order, if possible, this afternoon. He
wished me not to procrastinate.’
‘I called to tell you not to go any further, Mr. Trumbull;
and I beg of you not to mention what has been said on the
subject. Will you oblige me?’

Middlemarch