” Annabel gave a little gasp. ” He stepped back as though he had received a blow. “Let’s go home. Her pa was only the smithy. 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. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively. He was there concealed, waiting her return. Stanley took mustard savagely. " Meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and chatting as merrily as before. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered.
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