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. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. Mrs. “He couldn’t look me in the face and say it,” said Ann Veronica. " "Not necessarily. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. She delighted in frustrating him. "My worst fears are realized. She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. ’ If you engage me it must be upon my own merits.
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