_That_ was now
the home. Portsmouth was Portsmouth; Mansfield was home.
They had been long so arranged in the indulgence of her
secret meditations, and nothing was more consolatory
to her than to find her aunt using the same language:
"I cannot but say I much regret your being from home
at this distressing time, so very trying to my spirits.
I trust and hope, and sincerely wish you may never be absent
from home so long again," were most delightful sentences
to her. Still, however, it was her private regale.
Delicacy to her parents made her careful not to betray
such a preference of her uncle's house. It was always:
"When I go back into Northamptonshire, or when I return
to Mansfield, I shall do so and so." For a great
while it was so, but at last the longing grew stronger,
it overthrew caution, and she found herself talking of what
she should do when she went home before she was aware.
She reproached herself, coloured, and looked fearfully towards
her father and mother. She need not have been uneasy.
There was no sign of displeasure, or even of hearing her.
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