“Yes, sir.”
“And extreme rare, Bob.” Here Sir John scowled at the old cross and became bitter all at once. “Aye, indeed, true love in a woman is as hard to find as flies in winter or ice in summer, by heaven!”
“Indeed, sir?” answered Robert the Imperturbable. “Will you have your blue and silver in the valise or——”
“Damn my blue and silver!”
“Yes, sir.... Or shall I pack it in the trunk along o’——”
“Curse the trunk! Curse everything! I’m talking o’ love!”
“Very good, your honour.”
“And I say that women’s love is a devilish shy thing, very apt to take wing and fly away. ’Tis found but to be lost. ’Tis a slight thing and very transient. Pluck it and it withers, grasp it and it crumbles to sorry dust, taste it and ’tis ashes in the mouth. ’Tis a bitter-sweet, an emptiness, a merest bagatelle, an apple o’ Sodom!”
“Indeed, sir? And will you wear your light walking-sword with the silver——”