But now you must be quiet; there's been too much excitement. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. "What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. "I'll make a sketch, too," he said. 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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