The aunt laughed. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic. 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. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. Did you break my mother's heart as you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you for anything. . Three cars were lined up in the driveway.
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