THAMES DARRELL. 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. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. CHAPTER XVIII. ‘Not care? For this he must be an Englishman tout à fait sympathique, and— and I know only.
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