” “I promise,” Annabel declared. “Put her in the trunk. The same night he met Meddoes and Drummond together, the latter over from Paris on a week’s leave from the Embassy. But she was not there. The tables were then cleared. Melusine tapped on it. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. 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. Easy enough. ‘To see Charvill.
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