Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. 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. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I. Tell me, Sir," she added, with forced calmness, and grasping Wood's arm; "what has Jack done? Tell me in a word, that I may know the worst. Jonathan threw open the street-door. "I had a terrible dream last night. By and by she heard the screen door. Women who Dids, and all that kind of thing. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. "Well, I'm glad she's spared this. I told you, Sir Rowland," he added, turning to the knight, and chuckling, "the devil never deserts me.
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