He went to the door, and shouted for Renford. On that overworked
youth's appearance, the following dialogue took place.

"Where's the milk?"

"What milk?"

"My milk."

"There isn't any." This in a tone not untinged with triumph, as if the
speaker realised that here was a distinct score to him.

"No milk?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You never had any."

"Well, just cut across--no, half a second. What are you doing
downstairs?"

"Having tea."

"Then you've got milk."

"Only a little." This apprehensively.