"But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. 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.
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