They were bathing in the stream. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. ’ ‘That is not your affair. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play. 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.
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