She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. 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. On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. “Any choice as to which of the Halls? You can pick and choose, you know. Come, make yourself scarce. I am not boring you, am I?” She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. ’ ‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly.
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