They trudged along a little hungry, because of the fruitarian refreshments, and mentally very active. 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. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. "Come, come, Jack," said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, "have done with this.
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