"Mr. Glentworth is much obliged to you," was her sister's answer.
"I was wrong," cried Georgiana, her kind feelings instantly reproaching her for her careless mention of the dead. "But you must allow that it is very provoking, when we were so comfortable at Brighton, to be hurried back to dull, dreary London."
"I am sure," replied the other, "that I am as sorry as you can be. I wish mamma had taken the first offer, and let our house for a year."
"But mamma," said Georgiana, looking a little aghast, "would not spend the season out of London for the world."
"What pleasure she can find in it," was the reply, "is a mystery to me. London is all very delightful for rich people, but those who are as poor as ourselves had better be any where else."
"I wish we lived in the country," cried Georgiana: "if we had but a cottage and a pretty garden, how happy we should be!"
"Instead," exclaimed Isabella, "of spending three parts of our time in that odious back parlour. Child as I was when we left it, I can recollect the dear old shrubberies of Granard Park."
"And yet, mamma," returned the other, "always talks of having been buried alive there."
"Mamma," was the answer, "calls every body buried alive who lives out of a certain class. Our opposite neighbours, the Palmers, are as much buried
