Something in his manner cowed the girl. She beat a hasty retreat, and was planning how she could manage to eat the despised supper herself, when at the foot of the stairs she met Miss Charlotte, and her project was nipped in the bud. “It aint no use, miss, ’e wont touch it,” she explained; “’e was as angry as could be, and says ’e, ‘Take it away. I’ll not be treated like your mistress’ pet dog,’ says ’e. So, bein’ frightened, I ran downstairs agen.” Miss Charlotte looked troubled, and later on, when as usual she took up the jug of hot water, she felt nervous and uncomfortable, and her knock was more timid than ever. However, she had scarcely set down the jug on the floor when there came sounds of hasty footsteps in the room, and Frithiof flung open the door. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “You meant to be kind, I’m sure, but the girl was rude, and I lost my temper. I ask your forgiveness.” There were both pathetic and comic elements in the little scene; the meek Miss Charlotte stood trembling as if she had seen a ghost, gazing up at the tall Norseman who, in the hurry of the moment, had forgotten to remove the wet towel which, in common with most night-workers, he was in the habit of tying round his forehead. Miss Charlotte stooped to pick up the jug. “I am so sorry the girl was rude,” she said. “I wish I had brought it myself. You see, it was in this way; we all thought you looking so poorly, and we were having the beef for supper and we thought perhaps you might fancy some, and—and—” “It was very good of you,” he said, touched, in spite of himself, by the kindness. “I regret what I said, but you must make allowance for a bad-tempered man with a splitting headache.” “Is that the reason you tie it up?” asked Miss Charlotte. He laughed and pulled off the towel, passing his hand over the mass of thick light hair which it had disordered. “It keeps it cooler,” he said, “and I can get through more work.” She glanced at the table, and saw that it was covered with papers and books. “Are you wise to do so much work after being busy all day?” she said. “It seems to me that you are not looking well.” “It is nothing but headache,” he said. “And the work is the only pleasure I have in the world.” “I was afraid from your looks that you had a hard life,” she said hesitatingly. “It is not hard outwardly. As far as work goes it is easy enough, but there is a deadly monotony about it.” “Ah! if only”—she began. He interrupted her. “I know quite well what you are going to say—you are going to recommend me to attend one of those religious meetings where people get so full of a delightful excitement. Believe me, they would not have the slightest effect on me. And yet, if you wish it, I will go. It shall be my sign of penitence for my rudeness just now.”