. 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. Monsieur Charvill, he has not the means to choose different. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. ” Her heart had warmed toward him. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music.
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