"What for?" said Dick. "Haven't you got one upstairs?"
Robin stood a moment or two debating with himself, then made a second movement to go. "All right. I'll fetch it."
"Wait a minute!" Dick's voice compelled. "What do you want a candle down here for?"
Robin backed against the door-post with a kind of heavy defiance. "Want to get something—out of the kitchen," he muttered.
"What do you want to get?" said Dick.
Robin was silent, stubbornly, insistently silent, the fingers of one hand working with agitated activity.
"Robin!"
It was the voice of authority. He had to respond to it. He made a lumbering gesture towards the speaker, but his eyes remained obstinately lowered under the shag of hair that hung over his forehead.
Dick sat for a few seconds looking at him, then with a sudden sigh that caught him unawares he got up.
"What did you come down for? Tell me!" he said.