“Do, dear; your father may want me for a few minutes.”
Daisy left the room, but only to reappear again very shortly with a troubled face.
“Papa, mamma,” she said, “there is a tramp at the door now. He seems nearly fainting, and cook says he must have been out in the snow all night. There is no soup ready; might I have a cup of tea for him?”
“Certainly,” said her mother. “Run, one of you boys, for a kitchen cup; it will taste just as good, and I don’t like to risk one of my dear old china ones.”
“Mamma,” said Daisy, in a low voice—she was always a little afraid of the boys laughing at her—“I don’t think it would have mattered about the cup. Do you know, he looks quite like a gentleman?”
Her father, who was standing near, overheard the last words. He had been reading a letter, which he threw aside.
“There is nothing from Ingram,” he remarked to his wife. “I had hoped for a letter. I am so sorry for him, just at Christmas time again the old disappointment. But what is Daisy saying?” The young girl repeated what she had told her mother, and Ralph just then appearing with a substantial cup and saucer, Mrs Winthrop poured out the tea, and Daisy, carrying it, went off with her father to the kitchen door.
“A gentleman, you say, Daisy?” he repeated.
“Yes, papa, and quite young. Cook says she is sure he is a gentleman.”
“And begging?” added her father.