Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. But she must not laugh. She has power over men’s fates in more ways than one. 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. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. Still, thereafter she had avoided Morgan's; partly out of fear and partly because of her father's mandate.
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