"He will be in directly, and delighted to help you. Meanwhile, help me make the toast, and stop to tea with us."
"I'll help you with the toast," he said. "But I've had my tea, thanks."
It was a falsehood, for he had run out of tea two days before; but he was proud as well as poor, which is a mistake.
"Oh, well, you can pretend to drink another cup," said Nell lightly; for she knew that the truth was not in his statement.
He stuck a slice of bread on a toasting fork, but did not kneel down before the fire for a moment or two.
"Your room faces the same way as mine," he said. "But it always seems cooler." His dark eyes wandered round meditatively. Small as the room was, it had that air of neatness which indicates the presence of a lady. The tea cloth was white, the few ornaments and pictures—brought from The Cottage—the small bookcase and wicker-work basket gave a touch of refinement, which was wholly wanting in his own sparsely furnished and always untidy den. "Coming in here is like—like coming into another world. I feel sometimes as if I should like to suggest that you should charge sixpence for admission. It would be worth that sum to most of the people in the Buildings, as a lesson in the use and beauty of soap and water and a duster."
Nell smiled.
"I think it is wonderful that they keep their rooms as clean as they do, seeing that every time one opens the windows the blacks pour in——"
"Like Zulus into a zareba—if that's what they call it. Yes; no denizen of the Buildings would feel strange in Africa, for, whatever the weather may be, the blacks are always with us. Should you say that this is done on this side?"
He held up the slice on the toasting fork for her inspection.