"What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. 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. Oh, you cannot escape from it. This is my friend, Mr. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally.
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