He had been at home when Mr. Vavasor's note had reached his lodgings, and had instantly walked off towards Chancery Lane. He knew his way to Mr. Vavasor's signing-office very accurately, for he had acquired a habit of calling there, and of talking to the father about his daughter. He was a patient, persevering man, confident in himself, and apt to trust that he would accomplish those things which he attempted, though he was hardly himself aware of any such aptitude. He had never despaired as to Alice. And though he had openly acknowledged to himself that she had been very foolish,--or rather, that her judgement had failed her,--he had never in truth been angry with her. He had looked upon her rejection of himself, and her subsequent promise to her cousin, as the effects of a mental hallucination, very much to be lamented,--to be wept for, perhaps, through a whole life, as a source of terrible sorrow to himself and to her. But he regarded it all as a disease, of which the cure was yet possible,--as a disease which, though it might never leave the patient as strong as she was before, might still leave her altogether. And as he would still have clung to his love had she been attacked by any of those illnesses for which doctors have well-known names, so would he cling to her now that she was attacked by a malady for which no name was known. He had already heard from Mr. Vavasor that Alice had discovered how impossible it was that she should marry her cousin, and, in his quiet, patient, enduring way, was beginning to feel confident that he would, at last, carry his mistress off with him to Nethercoats.

John Grey had acquired a habit of calling at Mr. Vavasor's office to talk to the father about his daughter.
He had never despaired about Alice. And though he acknowledged that she had been very foolish - or rather, that her judgement had failed her - he had never been angry with her. He had looked upon her rejection of himself, and her promise to her cousin, as the effects of a mental hallucination, very much to be lamented, but curable - a disease which might leave her altogether. And just as he would still have clung to his love if she had been attacked by any ordinary illness, so would he cling to her now that she was attacked by a malady which had no name. He had heard from Mr. Vavasor that Alice had discovered it was impossible that she should marry her cousin, and, in his quiet, patient way was beginning to feel confident that he would, at last, carry her off with him to Nethercoats.
