Martha balanced the tray in the crook of one elbow and knocked on the door.
"Enter?" called a vague, cheerful voice from inside. She readjusted the tray, swung the door inward and moved to set her burden on the side table.
Mr Smith had been standing with his back to her, gazing reflectively out of the window, across the sweet green school lawn to the uncultured wilderness beyond. Now he turned, and beamed at her.
"Ah! Tea. Splendid. Thank you, Martha. I do confess," he said, uncertainly, "I'm feeling in need of some nice hot tea. It's rather chilly in here, don't you think?" Martha dropped the smallest of nods.
"I believe it is, sir," she agreed. "Should I ask Albright to bring up some more wood for the fire?"
"Yes," said Mr Smith, looking half puzzled, half gratified and all so very attractive in the midst of this. "Thank you. Er, if you would be so kind?"
This small amount of conversation having apparently exhausted him, he turned back to the window with his hands linked behind his back and started to hum 'Jerusalem'. Martha recognised her exit cue and bowed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
"And when I see Albright," Martha muttered to herself as she crossed the landing, "I'm going to ask him to help you find your trousers."