"His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. " "Only two minutes more, Sir," intreated Edgeworth Bess, advancing towards him in such a manner as to screen Jack, who crept into the farthest part of the angle,—"only two minutes, and we've done. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. . At least for one moment, it was. And, setting down the link, he proceeded deliberately to untie his cravat.
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