She foresaw long conflicts and discussions, pryings which she could, not resent, justifications which would be forced upon her, obligations which she must not refuse.

More intolerable still, she saw herself in the role of a family idol, the household happiness hinging on her moods, the question of her health, her work, her pleasure being eternally the chief one.

Miss Kimpsey talked on about other things -- Windsor Castle, the Abbey, the Queen's stables; and Elfrida made occasional replies, politely vague.

She was mechanically twisting the little gold hoop on her wrist, and thinking of the artistic sufferings of a family idol.
Obviously the only thing was to destroy the prospective shrine.
"We don't find board as cheap as we expected," Miss Kimpsey was saying.
"Living, that is food, is very expensive," Elfrida replied quickly; "a good beefsteak, for instance, costs three Francs--I mean two and fivepence, a pound." "I _can't_ think in shillings!" Miss Kimpsey interposed plaintively.
"And about this idea my people have of coming over here--I've been living in London four months now, and I can't quite see your grounds for thinking it cheaper than Sparta, Miss Kimpsey." "Of course you have had time to judge of it." "Yes.

On the whole I think they would find it more expensive and much less satisfactory.