Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable,
when suddenly the sound of a step in regular approach was heard; a
heavy step, an unusual step in that part of the house: it was her
uncle's; she knew it as well as his voice; she had trembled at it as
often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his coming up to
speak to her, whatever might be the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas
who opened the door and asked if she were there, and if he might come
in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all
renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in
French and English.

She was all attention, however, in placing a chair for him, and trying
to appear honoured; and, in her agitation, had quite overlooked the
deficiencies of her apartment, till he, stopping short as he entered,
said, with much surprise, "Why have you no fire to-day?"

There was snow on the ground, and she was sitting in a shawl. She
hesitated.

"I am not cold, sir: I never sit here long at this time of year."

"But you have a fire in general?"

"No, sir."

"How comes this about? Here must be some mistake. I understood that
you had the use of this room by way of making you perfectly
comfortable. In your bedchamber I know you cannot have a fire. Here
is some great misapprehension which must be rectified. It is highly
unfit for you to sit, be it only half an hour a day, without a fire.
You are not strong. You are chilly. Your aunt cannot be aware of
this."