Lennox nodded. “Here,” he said, “let’s go into our hut.”
“No, not yet. I want to walk up and down in the fresh air a bit.”
“But the sun is terribly hot.”
“Do you good,” said Dickenson abruptly. “Let’s go right to the end and back three or four times.”
“Bah!” said Lennox. “You want to do this so as to ostentatiously show that you mean to keep friends with me.”
“Suppose I do. I’ve a right to, haven’t I?”
“Not to give me pain. It does. Help me to live it down quietly.”
“Very well; if you like it better. But I say, you’ll show up in the mess-room to-night?”
“Why should I?”
“Because the place is wretched and the fare’s—beastly. There, that doesn’t sound nice, but I must say it.”