"H'm, and now, I suppose, you'll be wanting another?"
"Will you find me one, Uncle George? If not, I've no doubt Mr. Smith will take me back."
Edward Webb still held Theresa's hand. "I think," he said with dignity, "we need not discuss the matter until Theresa has had some tea. You're cold, my dear."
"Desperately," she said.
He seated her by the fire, and brought her tea, and ordered Bessie to bring hot toast.
"Lots of it, please, Bessie," said Theresa.
"And more coal, and perhaps we'd better have Miss Grace."
"No, not Miss Grace until to-morrow."
"But, my dear, I'm afraid you're going to be ill. You're shivering."
"It's just a cold. I want to be alone with you to-night."