"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.