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. She had a warm, fun-loving personality, and an unflattering disrespect for her future husband’s authority. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. You foolish girl!” Ann Veronica took that in silence. She had warned him. "You have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable.
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