I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. After dessert was finished, John took Lucy for a ride in his car. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. 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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