Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. 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. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. This is a noted place for highwaymen.
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