Miss Drewitt nearly dropped her tea-cup in surprise at his audacity. He was certainly very cold, and she noticed a little blue mixed with the red of his nose. She looked round the cosy room and then at the open door, which was causing a bitter draught.
"He is not in," she repeated.
"Thank you," said Mr. Tredgold, patiently. "Good afternoon."
He was so humble that the girl began to feel uncomfortable. His gratitude for nothing reminded her of a disappointed tramp; moreover, the draught from the door was abominable.
"I can give you a cup of tea, if you wish," she said, shivering. "But please make haste and shut that door."
Mr. Tredgold stepped inside and closed it with alacrity, his back being turned just long enough to permit a congratulatory wink at the unconscious oak. He took a chair the other side of the fire, and, extending his numbed fingers to the blaze, thanked her warmly.
"It is very kind of you," he said, as he took his cup from her. "I was half frozen."
"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.