‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. Guns were impossible. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. But at the beginning of the affray, when he thought every one was too much occupied with his own concerns to remark his absence, he slipped out of the room, not for the purpose of avoiding the engagement (for cowardice was not one of his failings), but because he had another object in view.
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