He listened. "Then I presume you've not been arrested?" "I have not," answered Wood firmly. 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. Jests are not for seasons like this. He has been lodged in every round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him.
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