Middlemarch, by George Eliot

In which we are introduced to Dorothea.

The bell rings another time and still no one answers it: Emily and David are busy catching up in the kitchen. Anya is wandering back down the hall, hoping to use the bell as a distraction to sneak into the garage and smoke unnoticed.

She has just taken her first drawn when suddenly, the garage door jerks up, then a pair of hands grab under the door and lifts it open further. A dark shape ducks underneath.

“Dorothea?”

“Hello, Anya.”

“No one answered the door?”

“No, but, having lived with Casaubon for some time, he did instruct me in the use of levers. And I am, anyway, a fairly independent woman for my time. Pray excuse me if I startled you. Is the party that way?” and she starts off toward the kitchen.

“Dodo!” Emily screams.

David smiles grandly, “Dorothea! Why, this really is old home week.”

“Truly, I’m glad to see you both again,” and she really means it; she feels her heart is warmed deeply by their presence.

“We were just talking about love, Dodo,” Emily remarks. “I found it, finally, after finding it first for so many others. Matchmaker!” she sings out. “David found it at last, too. And so have you!”

“I’m in love too,” Anya says entering the room. “Remember?”

“Well, yes, you have found love, in a way. But your love is so complicated, so pressured. Our loves are just pure and full of romance, and they go on and on forever. I can just see us growing old, surrounded by our grandchildren’s children. One big happy family, with lots of food on the table and big walking gardens. I just can’t imagine how yours will end.”

“In divorce.”

“David, that’s rude,” Dorothea impinges, immediately worried she was too harsh. “There are many different kinds of love in the world. Why I, for one, loved both Casaubon and Laidslaw, two very different people.”

“And I once loved my Emily then married Dora and now I’m married to Anges,” David added.

“Yes but your loves were just narrative devices designed to create suspense and draw out the plot. My love of Mac was the whole story.”

“Oh really, Anya, you are too much. My Emily just a plot twist? Are you saying my whole life was just a long, drawn out ploy used to sell copies of a serial publication?”

“Let’s not argue, really!” Dorothea implores.

“The door bell’s ringing,” Anya adds coolly.

“And something’s burning. Help!” Dorothea rushes to Emily’s aid and Anya and David glower at each other.

“Oh I’ll get it,” Anya concedes