Clement's church. Manning relinquished his cup, and looked meaningly at Ann Veronica. 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. Sorry to be so nosy. There was a black fear in his heart. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. Afraid there'll be a love-affair. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November.
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