“Yes.”
“Remain so.”
“Well,” said the man in black, rising, “puzzled or not, I will no longer trespass upon your and this young lady’s retirement; only allow me, before I go, to apologize for my intrusion.”
“No apology is necessary,” said I; “will you please to take anything before you go? I think this young lady, at my request, would contrive to make you a cup of tea.”
“Tea!” said the man in black—“he! he! I don’t drink tea; I don’t like it—if, indeed, you had,” and here he stopped.
“There’s nothing like gin and water, is there?” said I, “but I am sorry to say I have none.”
“Gin and water,” said the man in black, “how do you know that I am fond of gin and water?”
“Did I not see you drinking some at the public-house?”
“You did,” said the man in black, “and I remember, that when I called for some, you repeated my words—permit me to ask, is gin and water an unusual drink in England?”
“It is not usually drunk cold, and with a lump of sugar,” said I.