"I'll not have my breakfast till he does," she announced. "Is there anything I can do for him?"
"Nothing, my dear, I'm afraid. But look at the view. Isn't it lovely?"
The girl clapped her hands. "Oh, it's bonny. And it's neat. It's redded itself up for Richard's coming."
"'Redded itself up'? What does that mean?"
"Don't you use the word here? English seems to be a terribly poor language. Redding up means making everything tidy and neat, so that you're ready for anything."
That was what one must do: red oneself up. It was true that it was no use doing that for Richard any more, and that there was no one else in the world for whom she wished to be ready. But she must be schooled by the spectacle of the earth, for here it was shining fair, and yet it had nothing to expect; it was but the icing of a cake destined for some sun's swallowing.
"Is Richard a good riser?" asked Ellen, adopting a severe, servant-engaging tone to disguise the truth that she was trembling with desire to see her lover.
"Usually, but he may be late to-day since he went to bed such a short time ago. He evidently isn't up yet, for his blind's still down. That's his room on the left."
But as they gazed the blind went up, and they saw him turning away from the window.
"Oh, why didn't he look at us!" cried Ellen. "Why didn't he look at us?"