“Two hours ago,” he said solemnly; “and I wanted some tea.”
“I am so sorry, but I did not dream of your coming. Are you better, my dear one?” She tried to pull the fire together with the little poker.
“I am a little better,” he answered. “You will never make the water boil over that fire.”
“Yes, I will”—and she looked into the coal-scuttle. “Have you come up to town for good, dear Alfred?” The scuttle was empty, but she found some little bits of wood and tried to make a blaze.
“I don’t know; I am going back to my chambers presently to do a night’s work.”
“And to-morrow?” she asked anxiously.
“Perhaps you will see me to-morrow,” he answered. “Can you give me something to eat? I wish you would make a decent fire.”
“I will, my dear one. If you will rest here patiently for a few minutes, I will go downstairs and ask the landlady to let me have some coals.”
“I have no money,” he said sullenly; “understand that.”
“But I have, my darling,” she answered joyfully; “and I am quite sure you require nourishment. Will you let me go out and buy you a chop?”