There appeared to be no tea-table. Chesterton, her arms stretched taut holding the heavy tray, looked round. Evidently tea up there wasn't usual.
'Put it in the window,' said Wemyss, jerking his head towards the writing-table.
'Oh--' began Lucy quickly; and stopped.
'What's the matter?' asked Wemyss.
'Won't it-be draughty?'
'Nonsense. Draughty. Do you suppose I'd tolerate windows in my house that let in draughts?'
Chesterton, resting a corner of the tray on the table, was sweeping a clear space for it with her hand. Not that much sweeping was needed, for the table was big and all that was on it was the notepaper which earlier in the afternoon had been scattered on the floor, a rusty pen or two, some pencils whose ends had been gnawed as the pencils of a child at its lessons are gnawe
