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. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. “One hardly knows—all the time. "But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—"to the point. Mike chortled. ‘And I am delighted to see that you are ready to admit that the Charvills—or rather the Valades—are indeed your affair.
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