"By all means," rejoined Quilt. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. Anna was suddenly very quiet. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway. ‘Merci, dieu. Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. 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.
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