’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. "Mother, I come to you. 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. Running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance.
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