‘You may have him if you like,’ said Sophia, with a chuck of her head.

’Thank you, my dear, but I shouldn’t like it at all.  I haven’t come to that quite yet.’

‘You were talking of running away with somebody.’

’I shan’t run away with George Whitstable; you may be sure of that.  I’ll tell you what I shall do,—­I will write papa a letter.  I suppose he’ll condescend to read it.  If he won’t take me up to town himself, he must send me up to the Primeros.  What makes me most angry in the whole thing is that we should have condescended to be civil to the Melmottes down in the country.  In London one does those...