“It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. Both, perhaps?’ At that, her eyes darkened with fury. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. Before he could make the thrust, however, he was seized behind by Ireton, who flung himself upon him.
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