The breakfast was brought in before Lady Markham appeared. Alice had been up in her own room for, she thought, hours--trying to read, trying to find any little trivial occupation, wandering to the window to gaze out blindly, seeing nothing, fulfilling all the tricks of anxiety, as if she, happy child, had been born to it, or had lived in no other atmosphere all her days. And yet it was but a short time since the very _a_, _b_, _c_, of this devouring absorbing passion, had been unknown to her--so easily are all its habits learnt. She went down stairs when the hour for breakfast arrived, and found Sir William very busy over his papers. “Where is your mother?” he said. Alice did not know; but they easily concluded that being ready early she had gone--it was not far--to see her boy in his rooms, perhaps to use some argument with him which had been taught to her in the counsels of the night. “She will have gone to bring Paul to breakfast,” Alice said, feeling it was her business to smile, and keep what show of liveliness was possible. Then she made the tea, and going to the window once more stood looking out, hearing in the silence the scratch of her father’s pen upon the paper, and the bubbling and boiling of the urn upon the table. By and by they sat down to breakfast. Lady Markham possibly was staying with Paul. Perhaps he was late, as usual, and kept her waiting. It seemed a cheerful token, a sign of good, to fall back upon Paul’s lateness--that familiar home grievance which they all had laughed and scolded about a hundred times. To say that he was “late as usual,” that mamma no doubt had found him in bed, and was waiting for him, lazy fellow, seemed to break the new and gloomy spell. Just then, however, a step approached, and some one knocked; a servant, and after him, their friend of yesterday, young Fairfax, very shamefaced and blushing, who came to say that Lady Markham had sent him, that she was taking off her hat up stairs, and would be down directly; and that he was under her orders to wait here for something she wanted him to do. Fairfax blushed to the roots of his hair, and was full of apologies. “I am so sorry,” he said, “to disturb you; but Lady Markham----” “Bring another cup,” said Sir William. The waiter, who had ushered in Fairfax, had brought also a letter, which was almost more surprising than the other visitor. Sir William, however, was glad of any one who took him out of himself. He looked at his letter, but it did not seem important. The postmark was Markham Royal. There was no one there to give him uneasiness of any kind. He took it up between his finger and thumb, as he said--“Bring another cup.” And then neither of the young people knew anything more about Sir William till Lady Markham came in. He retired behind his letter as behind a shield, and the others talked. Fairfax was somewhat shy. He described how he had met Lady Markham in the fresh morning.