A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. 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. "Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild;—"and I sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you—the estates would be yours hereafter. “If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now. Wood started to his feet. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations.
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