A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. The door opened. I know you. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. CHAPTER XXIX. " "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess. We mustn’t make it so. 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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