“And you?” “Same thing. 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. “One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. Martin’s crush. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. She twisted her fingers tightly. ” “I would forgive you a great deal more,” he answered readily, “for the sake of an evening like this.
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