How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered. 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. “Forty guineas a week. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. It makes me desire life beyond measure. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I am far too interested to stop mixing myself in your affairs,’ Gerald said ruefully. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. We remember it. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. “How could he call except in your absence, as you are never at home in the afternoon. Especially when they wear cologne.
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