Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. Will you tell her that?" "I will," replied Thames, earnestly. " "Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. The door closed softly upon her.
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