He seemed to possess infinite reserves of patience when she refused him or purposely tried to bait and anger him, but his patience only made him seem more sinister. "Take him home, Saunders," said Sir Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "I shall not require you further. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. You're in luck to-night, widow.
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