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I. Louisa and Francis were good friends in their childhood.
What happened? Louisa doesn’t know, nor does she care to dwell on it. After Louisa returned from Kent as the picture of a lady, Francis seemed to be less inclined to spend time with her-- had he actually liked her former tomboyish self? Louisa won’t let herself dwell on it, but she has a suspicion that keeps cropping up at the worst of times.
II. Louisa and Francis used to make plans to run away together.
Childhood fantasies, yes, but Louisa and Francis both held the same zest for life, the uncontrollable urge to see all that they could. They would sit together, brown heads bent close as their traced their fingers over maps in places they wanted to see. Now, on Louisa’s parts, these fantasies are forgotten-- or, rather, have been replaced by the fantasies of marrying a rich husband who might spirit her off to the young United States.
III. Louisa often fancies she’d get along better with a brother, and wishes Francis were a member of her immediate family.
Oftentimes the atmosphere of an all-female household (aside from poor Mr. Hastings, but does he really count?) is far too cloistering for Louisa-- too much competition to ever feel secure in one’s own skin. For that reason Louisa wishes Francis were of her own family-- he brings a lightness with him, an ease, that Louisa craves. However, she knows well that Francis is closer to Camilla than she, and resents him a little for it.
IV. Louisa wants to tell Francis desperately about her facade-- the ladylikeness, her airs of being an airhead, the insulting bravado she puts on-- but knows it wouldn’t be wise.
