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. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means.
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