"Well, we'll see," said the marvelling Miss Nugent to herself as she went
slowly upstairs. "He's got impudence enough for forty."
She commenced her preparations for seeing Mr. Wilks by wrapping a shawl
round her shoulders and reclining in an easy-chair with a novel. It was
a good story, but the room was very cold, and even the pleasure of
snubbing an intrusive young man did not make amends for the lack of
warmth. She read and shivered for an hour, and then with chilled fingers
lit the gas and proceeded to array herself for the journey.
Her temper was not improved by seeing Mr. Hardy sitting in the dark over
a good fire when she got downstairs.
"I'm afraid I've kept you waiting," she said, crisply.
"Not at all," said Hardy. "I've been very comfortable."
Miss Nugent repressed a shiver and, crossing to the fire, thoughtlessly
extended her fingers over the blaze.
"I'm afraid you're cold," said Hardy.
The girl looked round sharply. His face, or as much of it as she could
see in the firelight, bore a look of honest concern somewhat at variance
with the quality of his voice. If it had not been for the absurdity of
altering her plans on his account she would have postponed her visit to
the steward until another day.
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