'So, Dr Norberry, you are come back at last!' was his first salutation, 'and what does the creature say for herself?'
'The creature!—Your fellow-creature, my dear, says very little—grief is not wordy.'
'Grief!—So then she is unhappy, is she?' cries Miss Norberry; 'I am monstrous glad of it.'
The doctor started; and an oath nearly escaped his lips. He did say, 'Why, zounds, Jane!'—but then he added, in a softer tone, 'Why do you rejoice in a poor girl's affliction?'
'Because I think it is for the good of her soul.'
'Good girl!' replied the father:—'Jane, (seizing her hand,) may your soul never need such a medicine!'
'It never will,' said her mother proudly: 'she has been differently brought up.'
'She has been well brought up, you might have added,' observed the doctor, 'had modesty permitted it. Mrs Mowbray, poor woman, had good intentions; but she was too flighty. Had Adeline, my children, had such a mother as yours, she would have been like you.'
'But not half so handsome,' interrupted the mother in a low voice.
'But as our faults and our virtues, my dear, depend so much on the care and instruction of others, we should look with pity, as well as aversion on the faults of those less fortunate in instructors than we have been.'