E. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. 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. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. Her mouth was once more covered as they left the second floor guest saloon and headed for the back stairs. ‘That fellow of yours is a deal better, by the by. But since we must have toasts," he added, snatching up a glass, "listen to mine: Here's King George the First! a long reign to him! and confusion to the Popish Pretender and his adherents!" "Bravely done!" said Wood, with tears in his eyes. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking.
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