"Breakfast!" she exclaimed. "No, indeed; breakfast is over and done with. I can't keep the things about half the morning."
The prototype of the fine gentleman seated himself in a chair at the table, and said in a drawling voice, suppressing a yawn:
"Joyce, get me some clean plates, and go and order a rasher of bacon; and let the eggs be poached; and——"
But Mrs. Falconer pushed Joyce aside:
"No," she said; "your sister has something else to do than wait on you. I'll get your breakfast; and if you have to wait an hour, it will serve you right; lie-a-beds don't generally have sharp appetites."
"Nay, mother," Melville said, "do not let the want of appetite be laid to my door, with so many other sins; I am particularly hungry this morning. And I beseech you, do not do servant's work for me."
Mrs. Falconer's face betrayed that she felt the thrust.
"Servant's work must be done for folks too lazy to do it for themselves," she said, as she let the heavy door swing behind her, and repaired to the kitchen to prepare, far too carefully, a breakfast for her son.
Joyce hesitated a moment, and then said:
"It always vexes mother when you are late, Melville. I wish you would get up earlier."