He did not answer, but looked her up and down.
“We’ll be going down,” he said. “We s’ll have folks talking.”
Suddenly she began to laugh. It seemed so comical. What a position! The candle shook as she laughed. What a man, answering her like a little automaton! Seriously, quite seriously he said it to her—“We s’ll have folks talking!” She laughed in a breathless, hurried way, as they tramped downstairs.
At the bottom of the stairs Calladine, the caretaker, met them. He was a tall thin man with a black moustache—about fifty years old.
“Have you done for tonight, all of you?” he said, grinning in echo to Alvina’s still fluttering laughter.
“That’s a nice rotten pair of steps you’ve got up there for a death-trap,” said Arthur angrily. “Come down on top of me, and I’m lucky I haven’t got my leg broken. It is near enough.”
“Come down with you, did they?” said Calladine good-humouredly. “I never knowed ’em come down wi’ me.”
“You ought to, then. My leg’s as near broke as it can be.”
“What, have you hurt yourself?”
“I should think I have. Look here—” And he began to pull up his trouser leg. But Alvina had given the candle to Calladine, and fled. She had a last view of Arthur stooping over his precious leg, while Calladine stooped his length and held down the candle.