Fortescue?” “At your service. ” She looked up at him, and found he was watching her closely. Ann Veronica decided she would have to go on with Capes another day, and, looking up, discovered him sitting on a stool with his hands in his pockets and his head a little on one side, regarding her with a thoughtful expression. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. 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 felt herself getting into a corner.
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