The woman came to his side.
“Do you see that carte de visite?”
“Cart o’ what?”
“That photograph there, lying on its side,” the words coming in hot gasps.
“Yes, sir.”
“Whose is it?”
“Misther Darcy’s, I suppose.”
“Whose likeness is it?” clutching her by the wrist.
“I dunno, sir.”
“You don’t know! Is it one of the family?”