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" "Let this speak for me," said Sheppard, tossing a heavy bag of money towards him. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard," replied Jonathan, maliciously. ” She shook her head. 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. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe.
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