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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. Cathy reached out and touched Lucy’s chin with her two fingers, gently commanding her attention. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. He seemed to know a great deal about life. Lad, I admire you even in your folly.
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