She had seen Mrs. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. "A little suffering will do him good. I asked him to take me away, and hide me. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. . The dusky obscurity of the room was twice welcome. "Mercy on us! what have I said!" cried the attendant, greatly alarmed by the agitation of her mistress; "do sit down, your ladyship, while I run for the ratifia and rosa solis.
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