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.
Miss Drewitt regarded him in alarm, and of her own accord gave him a
third cup of tea and told him that he might smoke. She felt safer when
she saw him light a cigarette, and, for fear that a worse thing might
befall her, entered amiably into conversation.
Pages:
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233