Karl came in through the open doors of the window. She glanced up and hid her eyes again: the more attractive he looked--and he always did look attractive--the greater her sense of pain. The fresh air was sweet and pleasant, and a good fire burnt in the grate. "Good morning, Lucy." She put down the sugar-tongs to give him her hand, and wished him good morning in a tone that no eavesdropper could have found fault with. They were quite civil to each other; nay, courteous; their intercourse much like that of true friends, or a brother and sister. After playing so long at this for the sake of keeping up appearances to their household and the world, it had become quite easy--a thing of habit. "What shall I give you?" he asked. "An egg, please." "Maclean thinks that fir-tree is dying." "Which fir-tree?" "The large one by the ferns. He wants to root it up and make a bed there. What do you think?" "I don't mind how it it. Is your coffee sweet enough?" "Yes." Hewitt appeared with the letters. Two for Miss Blake, one for Lady Andinnian, none for Sir Karl. Lucy read hers; glad of the help it afforded to occupation: for she did but toy with her breakfast, having little appetite now. "It is from mamma," said Lucy. "She is going to stay with my aunt in London. I suppose you did not call on Lady Southal yesterday?" "I? No." "You have promised to do so for some time past." "But I have not been able. When the mind is harassed with worry and business, social calls get put aside. Is Mrs. Cleeve well?" "Yes, and papa better. He is going to stay at home himself. They desire to be remembered to you." Karl bent his head in acknowledgment. And thus, talking indifferently of this and that, the meal came to an end. Karl asked his wife if she would go out to look at the fir-tree, and hear what Maclean said--he was always scrupulous in consulting her wishes as the Court's mistress. She brought her parasol at once. Karl held out his arm, and she took it. As they went down the steps, Miss Blake appeared. They waited to greet her, and to shake hands. "You must want your breakfast, Theresa. There are two letters for you on the table. Oh, and I have heard from mamma. She is going to stay with Aunt Southal in London." Lucy took Karl's arm again, and they went off with the gardener. Miss Blake probably did want her breakfast; but she spared a minute or two to look after them. "I wonder if anyone was ever so great a hypocrite?" ran her comment. "And to think that I once believed him to be the most noble and best of men. He dared to speak disparagingly of that pure saint, Mr. Cattacomb, the other day. Good patience! what contrasts there are in the world! And the same Heaven made them both, and permits both! One cannot understand it here. As to Lucy--but I wash my hands of _her_." Lucy was soon back again. Miss Blake had but read her letters, and begun her breakfast. Karl had passed into his own room.