"Bess wouldn't bear a rival. 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 am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. We all did that in our youth, when first we came upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. "I was in the right, you see, father," observed Thames, smiling; "Jack has done his task. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Wood; "it's my old master-key. .
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