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. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. “Let me show you something. "Will he live?" asked Ruth. \" He perked up, ready to make conversation. But I will go. It took the relatives of the Vorsack family a few more days to file their own. After all, why need one look down. ” She glanced into his blue eyes wearily. I don’t know. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. It ought not to be much.
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