As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. 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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