She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea. I ought never to have thought of it. And still you interest yourself in my affairs. You love money. ‘Why do you think I want a man ready to run to me with every move she makes?’ countered Gerald. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. 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. He turned his back on that temptation. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work.
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