Yet human nature is curiously "mixed" in its ways, always wanting what it does not possess. Fulvia missed the very solicitude which she most desired to avoid. It seemed hard that nobody should offer a word of kindness; that not a human being should care to hear how she had lain awake the whole night. For what? That none might learn; and if inquiries had come, Fulvia must have repelled them; but since they did not come, she craved a sympathising word. The sick sense of weariness was on her still; long hours of tossing to and fro had not meant rest; and breakfast was a mere sham. She could eat nothing; but nobody saw. Fulvia might do as she liked so long as other people's needs were attended to. So she told herself bitterly while pouring out unlimited cups of tea behind the silver urn. Breakfast was always a lengthy meal at the Grange. Everybody waited for everybody else, since all were expected to be present at family prayers afterwards. Fulvia had wandered away into a little dreamland of her own when she was recalled by Daisy's question— "What is Nigel going to do with himself to-day?" "Varieties," Nigel answered. "Mother wants you to go and see Mr. Carden-Cox." This was Anice's remark. If Anice desired a thing herself she was sure to quote Mrs. Browning. "I shall have to see Mr. Carden-Cox soon, of course." "Nigel, if you go this morning, I wish you'd take me," cried Daisy. "His study is so delicious, and he always gives one something nice." "To eat?" "No—nonsense. A book, or a picture, or something." "He is said to spoil children." "Well—and I'm a child—not a young lady! Do take me." "Nonsense, Daisy. Nigel can't be saddled with a pair of sisters all day long," interposed Fulvia, foreseeing a like request from Anice. "You don't call me a 'pair,' do you? Besides, what's the harm? Nigel has been more than a year away, and we do want to see something of him. You don't care, of course. He isn't your brother," pursued Daisy, unconscious of giving pain. "Nigel has nothing to do except amuse himself. Nobody will expect to see him. The Elveys won't, because he has been there; and other people don't matter, except Mr. Carden-Cox." "Nigel has not seen Malcolm yet." Nigel looked up at Fulvia in gratitude; and he did not at once look away. His eyes studied her gravely for two or three seconds; and Fulvia knew at once that she might have, but must not allow, the word of sympathy for which she had been craving. "Malcolm—no. But—" Daisy began. "You know that he is Curate at St. Peter's now, of course," Fulvia said cheerfully, smiling at Nigel.