in London at this time of the year we can never see anybody, and
of course you know what that must mean for me. If this goes on
about Sophia, it does not signify for her, and, though mamma likes
London, it is not of real importance. But it is very, very hard
upon me. It isn't for pleasure that I want to go up. There isn't
so very much pleasure in it. But if I'm to be buried down here at
Caversham, I might just as well be dead at once. If you choose to
give up both houses for a year, or for two years, and take us all
abroad, I should not grumble in the least. There are very nice
people to be met abroad, and perhaps things go easier that way
than in town. And there would be nothing for horses, and we could
dress very cheap and wear our old things. I'm sure I don't want to
run up bills. But if you would only think what Caversham must be
to me, without any one worth thinking about within twenty miles,
you would hardly ask me to stay here.

You certainly did say that if we would come down here with those
Melmottes we should be taken back to town, and you cannot be
surprised that we should be disappointed when we are told that we
are to be kept here after that. It makes me feel that life is so
hard that I can't bear it. I see other girls having such chances
when I have none, that sometimes I think I don't know what will
happen to me.' (This was the nearest approach which she dared to
make in writing to that threat which she had uttered to her mother
of running away with somebody.) 'I suppose that now it is useless
for me to ask you to take us all back this summer,--though it was
promised; but I hope you'll give me money to go up to the
Primeros. It would only be me and my maid. Julia Primero asked me
to stay with them when you first talked of not going up, and I
should not in the least object to reminding her, only it should be