“But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. "Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence. 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. “I can only be a few years older than you, and I have been married four years. Disperse in every direction. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. Then instantly she got out of bed and proceeded to dress. John’s demeanor shifted.
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