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. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. The feeling of last days grew stronger with her as their number diminished. The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. You have no grasp upon the essential facts of life (I pray God you never may), and in your rash ignorance you are prepared to dash into positions that may end in lifelong regret.
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