“And yet what alternative is there?” she asked her reflection in the mirror – and had no idea how lovely she looked as she asked it.
Breakfast was on the table when she went into the nursery and the footman who had carried it upstairs was setting down a large jug of milk for Dipa by his mug.
It was a typical English breakfast, two big bowls of porridge, a dish of eggs and bacon, a comb of honey and pats of butter as golden as the buttercups in the spring.
Dipa was looking at it with distaste. Carina remembered the trouble that she had experienced the day before trying to get Dipa to eat what an English boy would have gobbled up greedily.
“Do you think we could have some fruit?” she asked the footman.
He looked surprised, but replied,
“I should imagine so, miss. What would you prefer,
