To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. If he wants you, let him get you.
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