” Annabel shook her head. "I was in the right, you see, father," observed Thames, smiling; "Jack has done his task. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. 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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