"Pick up that blade, Nab," vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. 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 had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights. " "Here is the sum you bargained for," rejoined Trenchard, flinging a pocket-book on the table; "count it. I have the right also to throw you out.
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