Alice was taking breakfast, tired of waiting.

She said the baby had cried till after midnight, and that Charles never came to bed at all.
"Do eat this hot toast; it has just come in." "I shall stay at home to-day, Alice, I feel chilly; is it cold ?" "You must have a fire in your room." "Let me have one to day; I should like to sit there." She gave orders for the fire, and went herself to see that it burned.
Soon I was sitting before it, my feet on a stool, and a poker in my hand with which I smashed the smoky lumps of coal which smoldered in the grate.
I stayed there all day, looking out of the window when I heard the horses tramp in the stable or a step on the piazza.

It was a dull November day; the atmosphere was glutinous with a pale mist, which made the leaves stick together in bunches, helplessly cumbering the ground.

The boughs dropped silent tears over them, under the gray, pitiless sky.

I read Byron, which was the only book in the house, I believe; for neither Charles nor Alice read anything except the newspapers.