Mr. Tredgold must be very cold up there, miss,” said Mr. Tasker, respectfully, as he brought in the tea.  “He keeps slapping his chest and blowing on his fingers to keep ’imself warm.”

Miss Drewitt said “Oh!” and, drawing the little table up to her easy-chair, put down her book and poured herself out a cup of tea.  She had just arranged it to her taste-two lumps of sugar and a liberal allowance of cream—­when a faint rap sounded on the front door.

“Come in!” she said, taking her feet from the fender and facing about.

The door opened and revealed to her indignant gaze the figure of Mr. Tredgold.  His ears and nose were of a brilliant red and his eyes were watering with the cold.  She eyed him inquiringly.

“Good afternoon,” he said, bowing.

Miss Drewitt returned the greeting.

“Isn’t Captain Bowers in?” said Mr. Tredgold, with a shade of disappointment in his voice as he glanced around.

“No,” said the girl.

Mr. Tredgold hesitated.  “I was going to ask him to give me a cup of tea,” he said, with a shiver.  “I’m half frozen, and I’m afraid that I have a taken a chill.”

[Illustration:  “‘I was going to ask him to give me a cup of tea,’ he said.”]

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.

“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.