‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him. 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. " "It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily. That’s my opinion, if you ask me. Martin’s parents looked at each other in embarrassed, silent communication. \" Said John as he piled the papery remnants of their meal onto the tray. Annabel thought, and thought again. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him.
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