He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look 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. Melusine started back, blinking. “Where are they?” She looked around. ” “You do not flatter me,” she laughed. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. ” Sir John was speechless. The movie droned on, the sounds becoming manageable except for the frequent high-pitched screams of young girls when a poltergeist manifestation would leap out of a shadow. But—if you are a friend of Mr. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear.
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