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. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. . Unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat and other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and began to eat and drink voraciously. "Where is he?" he cried. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her.
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