But there was no sign of illness. The lad looked terribly weak and delicate, but his eyes were bright, and the red spots on his cheeks were unchanged.
“I say, Preston,” said the lawyer, when they had been to sea about a quarter of an hour, “you look very pale: if you’d like to go below I’ll stay with him.”
“Thanks, no,” was the reply; “I prefer the deck. How beautiful the chalky coast looks, Lawrence!”
“Yes, lovely,” was the reply; “but I was trying to look forward to see France. I want to see health. Looking back seems like being ill.”
The professor nodded, and said that the French coast would soon be very plain, and he stalked up and down, a magnificent specimen of humanity, with his great beard blown about by the wind, which sought in vain to play with his closely-cut hair.
“I’m sure you had better go below, professor. You look quite white,” said the lawyer again; but Mr Preston laughed.
“I am quite well,” he said; and he took another turn up and down to look at the silvery foam churned up by the beating paddles.
“Look here!” cried the lawyer again, as the professor came and stood talking to Lawrence; “had you not better go down?”
“No. Why go down to a cabin full of sick people, when I am enjoying the fresh air, and am quite well?”
“But are you really quite well?”