. ’ The dimple that so fascinated Melusine peeped in her great-aunt’s cheek. 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. She approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension. ’ ‘I think you—’ He broke off abruptly, astonished at what he had been about to say. The movement was fatal to her son.
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