"Damnation!" exclaimed Wild with a snarl, that displayed his glistening fangs to the farthest extremity of his mouth, "I'm not to be trifled with thus. 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. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters. McClintock will be tuning up the piano to-day. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. I'm no great judge of these articles, Ma'am; but I trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration.
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