She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. Why did you let him have it?" "Let him have it? I can't stand at the elbow of any of the guests and regulate his or her actions. “But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help. I haven’t, anyhow. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. He pretended to be unaware of the mishap.
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