It is not the woman who speaks there. 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. ” He was silent for a moment or two. ’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. “Anna!” she repeated. "I didn't awake you, because you seemed tired.
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