‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. We all did that in our youth, when first we came upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend. “One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and the beautiful machinery of order that ropes them in. 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. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about.
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