"It is too hot for walking, Lucy. You should take the carriage."
"I don't like the parade of the carriage when I go to Margaret's."
"Would you like a little pony-chaise? I will buy you one if you----"
"No, thank you," she interrupted hastily, her tone a cold one. "I prefer to walk when I go about Foxwood. The heat will pass away sometime."
"You were saying the other day, Lucy, to some one who called, that you would like to read that new book on the Laplanders. I have been getting it for you."
He had a white paper parcel in his hand, undid it, and gave her a handsomely-bound volume. She felt the kindness, and her sad face flushed slightly.
"Thank you; thank you very much. It was good of you to think of me."
"And I have been subscribing to the Basham library, Lucy, and brought home the first parcel of books. It may amuse you to read them."
"Yes, I think it will. Thank you, Sir Karl."
She had never called him "Karl" when they were alone, since the explosion. Now and then occasionally before people, she did, especially before her father and mother. But he understood quite well that it was only done for appearance' sake.