So everybody let her alone, poor child, to her hurt.

The news of the engagement was no Boston news; it was something that
had occurred, quietly enough, among a few people away up in Z----.
Of the persons who came in,--the few remaining in town,--nobody
happened to know or care. The Ripwinkleys did, of course; but Mrs.
Ripwinkley remembered last winter, and things she had read in
Desire's unconscious, undisguising face, and aware of nothing that
could be deepening the mischief now, thinking only of the sufficient
burden the poor child had to bear, thought kindly, "better not."

Meanwhile Mrs. Ledwith was dwelling more and more upon the European
plan. She made up her mind, at last, to ask Uncle Titus. When all
was well, she would not seem to break a compact by going away
altogether, so soon, to leave him; but now,--he would see the
difference; perhaps advise it. She would like to know what he would
advise. After all that had happened,--everything so changed,--half
her family abroad,--what could she do? Would it not be more prudent
to join them, than to set up a home again without them, and keep
them out there? And all Helena's education to provide for, and
everything so cheap and easy there, and so dear and difficult here?

"Now, tell me, truly, uncle, should you object? Should you take it
at all hard? I never meant to have left you, after all you have
done; but you see I have to break up, now poor Grant is gone; we
cannot live as we did before, even with what you do; and--for a
little while--it is cheaper there; and by and by we can come back
and make some other plan. Besides, I feel sometimes as if I _must_
go off; as if there weren't anything left here for me."