A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. ’ She let out a peal of laughter. Her eyes were wide open with amazement. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. 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. For a time I didn't know we'd ever find you. He began to tell me something—and stopped.
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