"Well—of course—it's an obvious thing to say," he began.
"I want a change?"
"That's it. A complete change of place."
"You're wrong," said I. "I want a complete change of time. I want to go back to a hundred years ago."
"Yes," he agreed, "better still, but I can't advise you how to get there. No—look here—it's not too late. Run off to Italy for a week or two—drop down into Sicily—take your time over it—get out of the train and walk if you like—and don't go alone."
"I shouldn't," said I.
"You know of some one?"
I looked down at Dandy. Dandy looked up at me.
"But I sha'n't go," I said. "You haven't diagnosed the disease. You don't seem to realize the worst symptom of it all."
"What's that?" he asked.