emained in the room in obedience to her sister's behest. When
the last tray had been taken out, Georgiana began. 'Papa, don't you
think you could settle now when we are to go back to town? Of course
we want to know about engagements and all that. There is Lady
Monogram's party on Wednesday. We promised to be there ever so long
ago.'

'You had better write to Lady Monogram and say you can't keep your
engagement.'

'But why not, papa? We could go up on Wednesday morning.'

'You can't do anything of the kind.'

'But, my dear, we should all like to have a day fixed,' said Lady
Pomona. Then there was a pause. Even Georgiana, in her present state
of mind, would have accepted some distant, even some undefined time,
as a compromise.

'Then you can't have a day fixed,' said Mr Longestaffe.

'How long do you suppose that we shall be kept here?' said Sophia, in
a low constrained voice.

'I do not know what you mean by being kept here. This is your home,
and this is where you may make up your minds to live.'

'But we are to go back?' demanded Sophia. Georgiana stood by in
silence, listening, resolving, and biding her time.

'You'll not return to London this season,' said Mr Longestaffe,
turning himself abruptly to a newspaper which he held in his hands.

'Do you mean that that is settled?' said Lady Pomona. 'I mean to say
that that is settled,' said Mr Longestaffe. Was there ever treachery
like this! The indignation in Georgiana's mind approached almost to
virtue as she thought of her father's falseness. She would not have
left town at all but for that promise. She would not have contaminated
herself with the Melmottes but for that promise. And now she was told
that the promise was to be absolutely broken, when it was no longer
possible that she could get back to London,--even to the house of the
hated Primeros,--without absolutely running away from her father's
residence! 'Then, papa,' she said, with affected calmness, 'you have
simply and with premeditation broken your word to us.'

'How dare you speak to me in that way, you wicked child!'

'I am not a child, papa, as you know very well. I am my own mistress,--
by law.'

'Then go and be your own mistress. You dare to tell me, your father,
that I have premeditated a falsehood! If you tell me that again, you
shall eat your meals in your own room or not eat them in this house.'

'Did you not promise that we should go back if we would come down and
entertain these p