She reached for the door handle. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. Captain Roding strode into the parlour. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. It seemed at this moment, however, that there was not going to be any “fun”, and Captain Roding said so. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. Doctors constantly admonished and offered weak consolation that most would have been hurt much worse from the type of fall he took.
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