The
conversation that followed was a severe test of Sidney's resolve.
Had Michael disclosed the fact of his private understanding with
Jane, Sidney would probably have yielded; but the old man gave no
hint of what he had done--partly because he found it difficult to
make the admission, partly in consequence of an indecision in his
own mind with regard to the very point at issue. Though agitated by
the consciousness of suffering in store for Jane, his thoughts
disturbed by the derangement of a part of his plan, he did not feel
that Sidney's change of mind gravely affected the plan itself. Age
had cooled his blood; enthusiasm had made personal interests of
comparatively small account to him; he recognised his
granddaughter's feeling, but could not appreciate its intensity, its
surpreme significance. When Kirkwood made a show of explaining
himself, saying that he shrank from that form of responsibility,
that such a marriage suggested to him many and insuperable
embarrassments, Michael began to reflect that perchance this was the
just view. With household and family cares, could Jane devote
herself to the great work after the manner of his ideal? Had he not
been tempted by his friendship for Sidney to introduce into his
scheme what was really an incompatible element? Was it not
decidedly, infinitely better that Jane should be unmarried?
Michael had taken the last step in that process of dehumanisation
which threatens idealists of his type.
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