" "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. " "That's the way it goes. She waited for him to leave the room, and turned back to Gerald. ” “Of course not,” Anna said. 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. And then suddenly—a relief. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter.
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