Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. "I beg pardon," he said. 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. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. To his intense satisfaction, Melusine bit her lip on a tremor. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations.
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