” Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. Why do you look so sad?” She opened her eyes wider and stifled her emotions. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon. 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. " "It is a diamond," said the lady, in an agony of distress,—"the child!" "A diamond! Here, take the kid," cried Blueskin, slipping the infant adroitly under her scarf.
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