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When she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was not very auspicious.
“Cleveland!”—she cried, with great agitation. “No, I cannot go to Cleveland.”—
“You forget,” said Elinor, gently, “that its situation is not . . . . that it is not in the neighbourhood of . . . .”
“But it is in Somersetshire.—I cannot go into Somersetshire.—There, where I looked forward to going . . . No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to go there.”
Elinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such feelings;—she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on others;—represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the time of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to see, in a more eligible, more comfortable,
