"I should have thought that a brisk walk home would have been better for you," said the girl, coldly.
Mr. Tredgold shook his head dolefully. "I should probably only have had lukewarm tea when I got there," he replied. "Nobody looks after me properly."
He passed his cup up and began to talk of skating and other seasonable topics. As he got warmer and his features regained their normal colouring and his face its usual expression of cheerfulness, Miss Drewitt's pity began to evaporate.
"Are you feeling better?" she inquired, pointedly.
"A little," was the cautious reply. His face took on an expression of anxiety and he spoke of a twinge, lightly tapping his left lung by way of emphasis.
"I hope that I shall not be taken ill here," he said, gravely.
Miss Drewitt sat up with a start. "I should hope not," she said, sharply.
"So inconvenient," he murmured.
"Quite impossible," said Miss Drewitt, whose experience led her to believe him capable of anything.
"I should never forgive myself," he said, gently.