“No. But I wouldn’t risk it for too long if I were you,” said he.
“Why, I have paid for a month,” I exclaimed, surprised that he should overlook this clinching fact.
“That, set against an impaired constitution, is a very inconsiderable trifle,” said he.
“Not inconsiderable at all,” said I sharply.
“Money is money, and I am not one to throw it away. And what about the van? You cannot abandon an entire van at a great distance from the place it belongs to.”
“Oh,” said he quickly, “we would see to that.”
I got up, for the sight of the glasses full of what I was forced to acknowledge was symbolic truth irritated me. The one representing myself, into which he had put but one drop of milk, was miserably discoloured. I did not like to think of such discolouration being my probable portion, and yet having paid for a month’s caravaning what could I do?
The afternoon was chilly and very damp, and I buttoned my wraps carefully about my throat. Menzies-Legh watched me.
“Well,” said he, getting up and looking first at me and then at the glasses and then at me again, “what do you think of doing, Baron?”
“Going for a little stroll,” I said.