He descended into the breakfast room, where Alixe and his mother were waiting. “How lazy you are this morning Charles,” said Alixe laughingly, holding out her hand. Charles kissed her, sat down and watched intently the important operation of tea-making.

“Will you have some toast Charles?” said his fairy. “Charles will you have some toast? Charles will you have –?”

But the voice of the fairy and even the silver sound of her laugh were unheard and after a pause of some moments the abstracted youth gravely said, without raising his eyes from the bread he was buttering, “I have been examining your poor little harp, Alixe and I think it could be easily mended. Only,” added he, looking up, “the strings must be of gold wire I think, as they are almost all broken. So I will take it, if you like, to Mr Humphrey’s, shall I?” Alixe had dropped her knife (a thing that had never happened in her life before) and she had stooped for it. But Charles's sentence was so long that the precautions were wasted. For with a countenance flushed (by the heat of the tea) and [in] a voice almost inarticulate, she answered.

“I told you Charles, I did not want it mended and, – and, – and, –”

Said Lady St Clair, – “if you want it mended, perhaps it had better be done in town?”

This was no doubt intended as a relief, but from some cause not understood Alixe's confusion augmented visibly, and at length she rose, saying, – “I think I had better finish packing up, dear Mamma.” Lady St Clair nodded and smiled and the fairy glided out of the apartment. There was a long pause, during which Charles seemed struggling with some painful feeling. At last, just as Lady St Clair rose, he caught her arm:

“Mother, dear mother, is Alixe in love with him?”

“In love with who?”

“Oh you know, dearest. That man, that Everard Price.”

“My love, I cannot pretend to say. Alixe is very pretty and she has been out a great deal and been very much admired by many people.”