"Come into the dining-room!" he said. "You are just in time to join me at tea."
"You're very kind," Avery said. "But I ought to hurry back the moment the rain lessens."
"It won't lessen yet," said Tudor. "Take off your mackintosh, won't you?
I expect your feet are wet. There's a fire to dry them by."
Certainly the storm showed no signs of abating. The sky was growing darker every instant. Avery slipped the streaming mackintosh from her shoulders and entered the room into which he had invited her.
The blaze on the hearth was cheering after the icy gale without. She went to it, stretching her numbed hands to the warmth.
Tudor pushed forward a chair. "I believe you are chilled to the bone," he said.
She laughed at that. "Oh no, indeed I am not! But it is a cold wind, isn't it? Have you finished your work for to-day?"
Tudor foraged in a cupboard for an extra cup and saucer. "No. I've got to go out again later. I've just come back from Miss Whalley's. She's got a touch of jaundice."
"Oh, poor thing!" said Avery.
"Yes; poor thing!" echoed Tudor grimly. "She is very sorry for herself, I can assure you; but as full of gossip as ever." He paused.