In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. 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. ” “Lady Ferringhall! Anna!” he exclaimed. .
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