She hated living like that. "Tom! Hey, Tom!" The Chinese cook thrust his head into the dining room. Now," he added, as his commands were reluctantly obeyed, "help me on with them. 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. "A little suffering will do him good. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm.
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