"What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. 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 departed reluctantly. Do not be a fool, Jacques. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse.
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