“I’ll lay an even bet,” said Roper, “that you were thinking more about the surgeon.”
“Were you ever wounded, Mr Roper?” said I.
“Once—in the heart, and incurably,” replied the coxcomb, with a glance at Edith.
“Pshaw! because, if you had been, you would scarce have ventured to select the surgeon as the subject of a joke. But I forgot. These are times of peace.”
“When men of peace become soldiers,” retorted Roper.
“I declare you are very silly!” cried Edith; “and I have a good mind to send both of you away.”
“Death rather than banishment!” said Roper.
“Well, then, do be quiet! I take such an interest in your race, Mr M’Whirter. Do you know I have two pairs of gloves upon it? So you must absolutely contrive to win. By the way, what are your colours?”
“Peach-blossom and scarlet.”