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. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. He had not noticed the girl particularly when she offered the sandwiches; but in this moment he found her beautiful. ” “You alarm me,” she murmured, smiling.
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