Her lips quivered pathetically; she shaded her eyes with her curved fingers as though the sunlight hurt her,--then with faltering steps she turned away from the warm stretch of garden, brilliant with blossom, and entered the house.

There was a sense of outrage and insult upon her, and though in her soul she treated Mr.Dyceworthy's observations with the contempt they deserved, his coarse allusion to Sir Philip Errington had wounded her more than she cared to admit to herself.

Once in the quiet sitting-room, she threw herself on her knees by her father's arm-chair, and laying her proud little golden head down on her folded arms, she broke into a passion of silent tears.
Who shall unravel the mystery of a woman's weeping?
Who shall declare whether it is a pain or a relief to the overcharged heart?
The dignity of a crowned queen is capable of utterly dissolving and disappearing in a shower of tears, when Love's burning finger touches the pulse and marks its slow or rapid beatings.

And Thelma wept as many of her sex weep, without knowing why, save that all suddenly she felt herself most lonely and forlorn like Sainte Beuve's-- "Colombe gemissante, Qui demande par pitie Sa moitie, Sa moitie loin d'elle absente!".