e purpose of travelling, my dear," said Mr. Copley, still rubbing
his hands--it must have been with satisfaction, for it could not have
been with cold--"the purpose of travel is--to get over the ground."

"It wasn't my purpose when I went away."

"No--but when you came back."

"It wasn't my purpose anyway," said Mrs. Copley. "I should never stir
from my place if I had to move the way you have kept me moving. My head
is in a whirl."

"I'll take hold and turn it round the other way."

"I think it is quite likely you will! I should like to know what you
mean to do with us, now you have got us here."

"Keep you here."

"What are you going to do with yourself, Mr. Copley?"

"There are always so many uses that I can make of myself, more than I
have time for, that I cannot tell which I shall take hold of first."

With which utterance he quitted the room, almost before it was fairly
out of his mouth. The two left behind sat and looked at the room, and
then at each other.

"What are we going to do now, Dolly?" Mrs. Copley asked in evidently
dismayed uncertainty.

"I don't know, mother."

"How long do you suppose your father will be contented to stay in this
house?"

"I have no means of guessing, mother. I don't know why we are here at
all."

"We had to go somewhere, I suppose, when we came to London--just for
the first; but I can't stay _here_, Dolly!"

"Of course not, mother."

"Then where are we going to? It is all very well to say 'of course
not;' but where can we go, Dolly?"

"I have been thinking about it, mother, dear, but I have not found out
yet. If we knew how long father wanted to stay in London"----

"It is no use asking that. I can tell you beforehand. He don't know
himself. But it is my belief he'll find something or other to make him
want to stay here the rest of his life."

"O mother, I hope not!"

"It is no use speaking to him about it, Dolly. Even if he knew, he
would not own it, but that's my belief; and I can't bear London, Dolly.
A very few days of this noise and darkness would just put me back where
I was before we went away. I know it would."

"This is a darker day than common; they are not all so."

"They are all like gloom itself, compared to where we have been. I tell
you, Dolly, I cannot stand it. After Sorrento, I cannot bear this."

"It's my belief, mother, you want home and Roxbury air. Why don't you
represent that to father, forcibly?"

"Dolly, I never put myself in