“But I’m so cold,” pleaded the other, in a husky voice.
“Well, brandy won’t warm you. Sit nearer to the fire.”
“I can’t get any nearer, unless I sit in the fender,” complained Sep, rather sullenly.
For Rees had used rather a bullying tone.
“I’m going into a decline, I think,” Sep began again. “This life’s too much for me, what with the danger, and the work, and the risks, and then the pace we go when we’re in funds.”
“Do you want to go back to Carstow and your old auntie, then?” asked Rees, with what was meant for a sneer, but which proved to be a rather feeble one.
“No-o; at least if I did, I suppose you wouldn’t let me go; and if you would, Goodhare wouldn’t,” said Sep, hopelessly.
The idea of starting an independent course of action was now further than ever beyond his capacity.
“I shouldn’t prevent you,” said Rees, gloomily. “This occupation of gentlemanly footpad is not more to my taste than to yours. I believe Goodhare likes violence; it’s one vent to the savagery he has been saving up all these years. But, for my part, if I had my chances over again, I should choose life in the country with——”
He stopped.