‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. 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. That is I saw her. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. As a matter of fact Mr.
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