"I need not remind you, Sir Rowland," replied Wild, "that you had two sisters— Aliva and Constance. " "And by whom were they both destroyed?" demanded his sister, raising herself by a painful effort, and regarding him with a searching glance. I will not be sent away. It was excellently done, especially as she loved good dinners. You never saw him before yesterday. Retract your words instantly, or take the consequences. But leave me here in my home, child, I will disintegrate if I am exposed. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. 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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