On one side of the passage was a small room where Thorold kept a good many of his books and papers. It was called the study, but he never sat there. Joanna had long ago proved to him that with one servant and a limited purse, an extra fire would be quite a sinful extravagance. It was for this reason too that she so seldom used her drawing-room. It was a pretty room on the first floor, with a pleasant view of the garden, and in summer she liked to sit at the open window with her work, and watch Thorold digging and raking in the borders. Gardening was his favourite amusement, and he took great pride in his flower-beds. Sometimes, when she had leisure, Joanna would weed or water a little; but she always made much of these labours. The room they mostly used was a large one on the ground floor. It extended from the front to the back of the house, and the two narrow windows at the farther end overlooked the shady old garden. This part of the room was furnished as a study. The stained book-shelves were loaded with ponderous-looking books. A writing-table occupied one window, and two comfortable easy-chairs, and Joanna's overflowing work-basket, stood on either side of the fireplace. A book-stand and a reading-lamp were by Thorold's chair; the front portion of the room was used for their meals. When Thorold came down that evening the room looked warm and cosy. The crimson curtains were drawn, and a bright fire blazed cheerfully. The supper was laid, and Jemima had just brought in a small, covered dish, and placed it before her mistress. Thorold was hungry, for his luncheon had been a light one. For a wonder, the chops were well cooked and hot; and as he helped himself to the nicely browned mashed potatoes, he felt disposed to enjoy himself. He would tell Joanna about his visit to Murdoch & Williams. She would be interested; and for once they would have a sociable evening. He even thought that he would ask for a cup of coffee, as he felt chilled and tired. And then, by way of making himself pleasant, he commended Jemima's cookery. It was an unfortunate choice of subjects. Joanna, who had been tranquilly eating her supper, suddenly grew red and querulous. "Ah, she can cook well enough if she chooses," she returned, "but there! she so seldom chooses to take pains. Thorold, I shall have to part with that girl; her wastefulness and extravagance are beyond everything. And then she is so self-willed, too--she will not mind anything I tell her. Again and again I have begged her not to put an egg in the rice pudding, but she does it all the same." "I suppose she thinks the egg will make the pudding nicer," returned Thorold, mildly; and then, to change the subject, he said, boldly, "I have rather a headache this evening, dear. Do you think Jemima could make me a cup of coffee?"