With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. 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. Certainly he could not move now other than to announce the fact that he had found his man. ‘And all to help me. Sheppard. ” “An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. \" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from.
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