Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. . She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. A physiognomist, indeed, would have likened him to that crafty animal, and it must be owned the general formation of his features favoured such a comparison. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. 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. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. ” His arms were around her.
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