| 'Such things, 'tis true, are neither new nor rare, |
| The only wonder is, how they got there:' |
till at length, disappointed, mortified, and disgusted, Mrs Mowbray impatiently returned to Rosevalley, where in beauty, in learning, and in grandeur she was unrivalled, and where she might deal out her dogmas, sure of exciting respectful attention, however she might fail of calling for a more flattering tribute from her auditors. But in the narrower field of Bath she expected to shine forth with greater éclat than in London, and to obtain admiration more worthy of her acceptance than any which a country circle could offer. To Bath, therefore, she prepared to go; and the young heart of Adeline beat high with pleasure at the idea of mixing with that busy world which her fancy had often clothed in the most winning attractions.
But her joy, and Mrs Mowbray's was a little over-clouded at the moment of their departure, by the sight of Dr Norberry's melancholy countenance. What was to be, as they fondly imagined, their gain, was his loss, and with a full heart he came to bid them adieu.
For Adeline he had conceived not only affection, but esteem amounting almost to veneration; for she appeared to him to unite various and opposing excellencies. Though possessed of taste and talents for literature, she was skilled in the minutest details of housewifery and feminine occupations: and at the same time she bore her faculties so meekly, that she never wounded the self-love of any one, by arrogating to herself any superiority.
Such Adeline appeared to her excellent old friend; and his affection for her was, perhaps, increased by the necessity which he was under of concealing it at home. The praises of Mrs Mowbray and Adeline were odious to the ears of Mrs Norberry and her daughters,—but especially the praises of the latter,—as the merit of Adeline was so uniform, that even the eye of envy could not at that period discover any thing in her vulnerable to censure: and as the sound of her name excited in his family a number of bad passions and corresponding expressions of countenance, the doctor wisely resolved to keep his feelings, with regard to her, locked up in his own bosom.
But he persisted in visiting at the Park daily; and it is no wonder, therefore, that the loss, even for a few months, of the society of its inhabitants should by him be anticipated as a serious calamity.
'Pshaw!' cried he, as Adeline, with an exulting bound sprung after her mother into the carriage, 'how gay and delighted you are! though my heart feels sadly queer and heavy.'
'My dear friend,' cried Mrs Mowbray, 'I must miss your society wherever I go.'—'I wish you were going too,' said Adeline: 'I shall often think of you.' 'Pshaw, girl! don't lie,' replied Dr Norberry, swallowing a sigh as he spoke: 'you will soon forget an old fellow like me.'—'Then I conclude that you will soon forget us.'—'He! how! what! think so at your peril.'—'I must think so, as we usually judge of others by ourselves.'—'Go to—go, miss mal-a-pert.—Well, but, drive on, coachman—this taking leave is plaguey disagreeable, so shake hands and be off.'
They gave him their hands, which he pressed very affectionately, and the carriage drove on.
'I am an old fool,' cried the doctor, wiping his eyes as the carriage disappeared. 'Well: Heaven grant, sweet innocent, that you may return to me as happy and spotless as you now are!'