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. He had not considered this aspect of the business. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. Again silence. She floundered deep. ’ ‘Well, she didn’t walk through the walls, that’s certain,’ said Hilary acidly. " "Well then, to change it," replied Thames, gravely, "suppose I should be obliged to leave you. Gentlemen,—Mr.
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