rd was again in the
house: he walked up with Dr. Grant, who was anxious to pay his respects
to Sir Thomas, and at rather an early hour they were ushered into the
breakfast-room, where were most of the family. Sir Thomas soon appeared,
and Maria saw with delight and agitation the introduction of the man she
loved to her father. Her sensations were indefinable, and so were they
a few minutes afterwards upon hearing Henry Crawford, who had a chair
between herself and Tom, ask the latter in an undervoice whether
there were any plans for resuming the play after the present happy
interruption (with a courteous glance at Sir Thomas), because, in that
case, he should make a point of returning to Mansfield at any time
required by the party: he was going away immediately, being to meet his
uncle at Bath without delay; but if there were any prospect of a renewal
of Lovers' Vows, he should hold himself positively engaged, he should
break through every other claim, he should absolutely condition with his
uncle for attending them whenever he might be wanted. The play should
not be lost by _his_ absence.

"From Bath, Norfolk, London, York, wherever I may be," said he; "I will
attend you from any place in England, at an hour's notice."

It was well at that moment that Tom had to speak, and not his sister. He
could immediately say with easy fluency, "I am sorry you are going;
but as to our play, _that_ is all over--entirely at an end" (looking
significantly at his father). "The painter was sent off yesterday, and
very little will remain of the theatre to-morrow. I knew how _that_
would be from the first. It is early for Bath. You will find nobody
there."

"It is about my uncle's usual time."

"When do you think of going?"

"I may, perhaps, get as far as Banbury to-day."

"Whose stables do you use at Bath?" was the next question; and while
this branch of the subject was under discussion, Maria, who wanted
neither pride nor resolution, was preparing to encounter her share of it
with tolerable calmness.

To her he soon turned, repeating much of what he had already said, with
only a softened air and stronger expressions of regret. But what availed
his expressions or his air? He was going, and, if not voluntarily going,
voluntarily intending to stay away; for, excepting what might be due
to his uncle, his engagements were all self-imposed. He might talk of
necessity, but she knew his independence. The hand which had so pressed
hers