A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. " But the caution came too late. "She is saying that you, a woman, will readily understand the position in which she finds herself. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet. I am quite sure that I do not know you. 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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