"What, did he fight?"
"He did not—saving the tongue of him. But I had broke my whip upon him, so I broke his nose to be even. Egad, he was beautiful before and behind. He cannot show this long while. Neither behind nor before, faith. What will he do, d'ye think?"
"Oh Lud, he'll not face it out. He would dream of hangmen. He'll take the waters. He'll go the grand tour. D'ye know, Patrick, there's a masterly touch in old Boyce. To choose that oaf for his decoy at Pontoise! Who could guess at danger in him? No wonder Charles Middleton saw no guile! Yet, you observe, the creature's full of venom."
"He bleeds like a pig," says Mr. O'Connor. "What will we be waiting for, sir?"
"The lady."
"She goes to Harry? Oh, he's the lucky one. What a Venus it is!"
"Aye, aye. She should have married you, Patrick. You would have ridden her."
"Ah now, don't destroy me with envy and desires," says Mr. O'Connor.
"But, sure, there was another, a noble fat girl. Will she be bespoke?"
"She belongs to the one-armed hero."
"Maybe she could do with another. There's enough of her for two. Oh, come away, sir, before I danger my soul."