“Yes, I will. I remember how pretty she is,” said Dorothea, into whose mind every impression about Rosamond had cut deep. “I hope she will like me.”

As Lydgate rode away, he thought, “This young creature has a heart large enough for the Virgin Mary. She evidently thinks nothing of her own future, and would pledge away half her income at once, as if she wanted nothing for herself but a chair to sit in from which she can look down with those clear eyes at the poor mortals who pray to her. She seems to have what I never saw in any woman before⁠—a fountain of friendship towards men⁠—a man can make a friend of her. Casaubon must have raised some heroic hallucination in her. I wonder if she could have any other sort of passion for a man? Ladislaw?⁠—there was certainly an unusual feeling between them. And Casaubon must have had a notion of it. Well⁠—her love might help a man more than her money.”