" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. 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. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. I do not believe that there has ever lived a really great actress whose moral character from the ordinary point of view would bear inspection. It looks so French to be affectionate. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. It would be the culmination of her plan. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives. ” “I thought Mr. Madame shrugged. " The hint was not lost upon Wood. She located her foster family. “Are there others like you?” “Yes.
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