" Mrs. The last observation, however, caught the attention of the carpenter's wife. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. 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. Gosse took a step or two towards the centre of the room. " "You're agitating yourself unnecessarily, Joan," returned Wood, in a soothing voice.
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