"Yes," replied Jack. 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. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. Taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked across the room; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door flew open. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. Fathers are abandoning their own children at the first sign of fever or buboes, Gianfrancesco! Priests have abandoned their churches. You are different, Lucia, undamaged even after what you have been through, still pure of heart. “I’d give anything,” he remarked, “to see our little Vee happily and comfortably married. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends.
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