” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. A sense of loss was amongst us. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. At that, the girl jumped up. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. 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. Forgive my daring. ’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. There are human limitations, and no doubt you reached yours. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Don’t try to shield anybody or hide anything.
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