S. " "What?" he barked. “She means to go. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. But remember my warning, and play the game!" Spurlock closed his eyes again. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion. 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. His face turned a dark crimson. She lied. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other people’s. F. Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected.
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