"Of course: there's the drawback. I think the neighbourhood of London would be the best locality for a new school: the most likely one to bring scholars. Should not you, Mary?" "Yes," assented Mrs. Raynor, with a sigh. "But you know all about these things so much better than I do, Edina." The plans, and the means of carrying them out, seemed, as yet, very indistinct; but at length Edina proposed to go to London and look about her, and see if she could find any suitable place. Mrs. Raynor, always thankful that others should act for her, eagerly acquiesced. Though, indeed, to find a house--or, rather, to find one full of furniture--appeared as a very castle-in-the-air. Chairs and tables do not drop from the skies: and Edina was setting her face resolutely against running into debt. "Now you understand," Edina said, the morning of her departure, calling Charles and Mrs. Raynor to her, "that I shall depend upon you to arrange matters here. If I am to find a house for you in London, I may have too much to do to return, and you must manage without me. Set about what has to be done at once, Charles: get the superfluous furniture out of the house, for sale; and have your boxes packed, ready to come up. You must be out of Eagles' Nest as soon as possible; on account of the heavy expenses still going on while you are in it. Mr. George Atkinson allowed you a month: I should leave it in less than half that time. Besides, Mary: you should be on the spot to begin school before the Midsummer holidays are over; it will give you a better chance of pupils." They agreed to all: Charles rather gloomily, Mrs. Raynor in simple confidence: anything suggested by Edina was sure to be for the best. It was impossible for Charles to rise up yet from the blow. With him, the aspect of things, instead of growing brighter, grew darker. Each morning, as it dawned, was only more gloomy than the last. A terrible wrong had been dealt to him--whether by Fate, or by that unjust defunct woman, his aunt Ann, or by George Atkinson, he could not quite decide, perhaps by all three combined--and he felt at variance with the whole world. Edina had talked to him of plans for himself, but Charles did not hear her with any patience. To contrast the present with the past drove him half-mad. That he must do something, he knew quite well, and he intended to do it: but he did not know what that something was to be; he could not see an opening anywhere. Moreover, he also knew that he must make some arrangement with the people at Oxford to whom he owed money. Another thing had yet to be done--taking his name off the college books. Charles went down to do this; and to confer with his creditors. Very young men are often most sensitive on the score of debt: Charles Raynor was so: and it seemed to him a formidable and distressing task to meet these men, avow his poverty, and beg of them to be lenient and wait.