Mr. Broune had sent her son away, had forbidden her to write any more novels,--and had been refused when he had asked her to marry him!
The next day he came to her as usual, and found her still very wretched. "I shall give up this house," she said. "I can't afford to keep it; and in truth I shall not want it. I don't in the least know where to go, but I don't think that it much signifies. Any place will be the same to me now."
"I don't see why you should say that."
"What does it matter?"
"You wouldn't think of going out of London."

The next day Mr. Broune came, and found her still very wretched.
"I shall give up this house," she said. "I can't afford to keep it. I don't know where to go, but I don't think that it much signifies. Any place will be the same to me now."
"You wouldn't go out of London."
