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. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. ” “We will have some tea in the drawing-room as soon as ever we can—and I will take my things off. She saw nothing of their love-making, and came home from her boarding-school in a state of decently suppressed curiosity for Alice’s wedding. Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it.
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