Sheppard. 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. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. The slight smile that played upon Winifred's lips seemed to say that she was not quite so sure. She is the wife now of another man. He'll be brought out at this door, and may probably make some resistance. If the boy did not love the girl, why the devil had he dragged her into this marriage? Spurlock was a bit shaky bodily, but his brain was functioning clearly; and, it might be added, swiftly—as the brain always acts when confronted by a perplexing riddle.
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