She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. . With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. 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. ‘Because she, naturally enough, does not consider that it is in any way my affair. ‘Caught her sneaking after that Valade fellow.
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