What had she wanted in life that she should have thus quarrelled with as happy a lot as ever had been offered to a woman?
Had she not been mad, when she sent from her side the only man that she loved,--the only man that she had ever truly respected?
For hours she sat there, all alone, putting out the candles which the servant had lighted for her, and leaving untasted the tea that was brought to her.
Poor Alice! I hope that she may be forgiven.

It was her special fault, that when at Rome she longed for Tibur, and when at Tibur she regretted Rome.

Not that her cousin George is to be taken as representing the joys of the great capital, though Mr Grey may be presumed to form no inconsiderable part of the promised delights of the country.

Now that she had sacrificed her Tibur, because it had seemed to her that the sunny quiet of its pastures lacked the excitement necessary for the happiness of life, she was again prepared to quarrel with the heartlessness of Rome, and already was again sighing for the tranquillity of the country.
Sitting there, full of these regrets, she declared to herself that she would wait for her father's return, and then, throwing herself upon his love and upon his mercy, would beg him to go to Mr Grey and ask for pardon for her.

"I should be very humble to him," she said; "but he is so good, that I may dare to be humble before him." So she waited for her father.