Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. She was surprised at his modesty. The tension was palpable. So, after the dinner was over, Spurlock took her home; and worked far into the night. "Before you go, bring me the bottle of pineapple rum I opened yesterday. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. 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. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other.
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