The house is very comfortable; but it always seems to me unpleasantly like some philanthropic institution in miniature.

I long to scratch the walls, or break the windows; and I begin to understand the feelings of those unhappy paupers who tear up their clothes: they get utterly tired of their stagnation, you see, and must do something wicked and rebellious rather than do nothing at all.

You will take pity upon my forlorn state, won't you, Di?
I shall come to Hyde Lodge to-morrow afternoon with mamma, to hear your ulti--what's its name ?--and in the meanwhile, and for ever afterwards, believe me to be your devoted and unchanging LOTTA." Diana Paget's eyes grew dim as she read this letter.
"I love her very dearly," she thought, "but not one hundred-fold as much as I ought to love her." And then she went back to Mr.Hawkehurst's epistle, and read and re-read its half-dozen lines, wondering when he would come to London, and whether she would see him when he came.

To see him again! The thought of that possibility seemed like a spot of vivid light, which dazzled her eyes and made them blind to anything around or beyond it.
As for this offer of a strange home in the household of Mr.Sheldon, it seemed to her a matter of so very little importance where she went or what became of her, that she was quite willing to let other people decide her existence.

Anything would be better than the monotony of Hyde Lodge.