"Bravely borne!" said Troy. "You didn't flinch a shade's thickness. Wonderful in a woman!"
"It was because I didn't expect it. Oh you have spoilt my hair!"
"Only once more."
"No—no! I am afraid of you—indeed I am!" she cried.
"I won't touch you at all—not even your hair. I am only going to kill that caterpillar settling on you. Now: still!"
It appeared that a caterpillar had come from the fern and chosen the front of her bodice as his resting place. She saw the point glisten towards her bosom, and seemingly enter it. Bathsheba closed her eyes in the full persuasion that she was killed at last. However, feeling just as usual, she opened them again.
"There it is, look," said the sergeant, holding his sword before her eyes.
The caterpillar was spitted upon its point.
"Why it is magic!" said Bathsheba, amazed.
"Oh no—dexterity. I merely gave point to your bosom where the caterpillar was, and instead of running you through checked the extension a thousandth of an inch short of your surface."
"But how could you chop off a curl of my hair with a sword that has no edge?"
