Clara hesitated for a few seconds.

'I am not sure--certainly not by myself. I was in London once for
six months as a governess in a very pleasant family, where I saw much
society; but I was glad to return to Fenmarket.'

'To the scenery round Fenmarket,' interrupted Madge; 'it is so
romantic, so mountainous, so interesting in every way.'

'I was thinking of people, strange as it may appear. In London
nobody really cares for anybody, at least, not in the sense in which
I should use the words. Men and women in London stand for certain
talents, and are valued often very highly for them, but they are
valued merely as representing these talents. Now, if I had a talent,
I should not be satisfied with admiration or respect because of it.
No matter what admiration, or respect, or even enthusiasm I might
evoke, even if I were told that my services had been immense and that
life had been changed through my instrumentality, I should feel the
lack of quiet, personal affection, and that, I believe, is not common
in London. If I were famous, I would sacrifice all the adoration of
the world for the love of a brother--if I had one--or a sister, who
perhaps had never heard what it was which had made me renowned.'

'Certainly,' said Madge, laughing, 'for the love of SUCH a sister.
But, Mr Palmer, I like London. I like the people, just the people,
although I do not know a soul, and not a soul cares a brass farthing
about me. I am not half so stupid in London as in the country. I
never have a thought of my own down here. How should I? But in
London there is plenty of talk about all kinds of things, and I find