not hungry,’ he answered, averting his head, and speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour.

I felt perplexed: I didn’t know whether it were not a proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition.

‘I don’t think it right to wander out of doors,’ I observed, ‘instead of being in bed: it is not wise, at any rate this moist season. I daresay you’ll catch a bad cold or a fever: you have something the matter with you now!’

‘Nothing but what I can bear,’ he replied; ‘and with the greatest pleasure, provided you’ll leave me alone: get in, and don’t annoy me.’

I obeyed: and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat.