" "I am here in Canton," she replied, simply. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. He made it brief. Goodbye. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. She began to look for beauty and discover it in unexpected aspects and places. “Well, no,” she answered. 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 shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. She says to be home by one AM.
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