She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. 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. Despite her busy work schedule, Sheila had always been a social person, a talker, a joiner of neighborhood groups, a town council member, a PTA worker, and a thrower of neighborhood coffee klatches. "I won't trouble you further, Jack," he remarked. "There'll be a louder echo here presently," thought Jonathan. " Gravely he watched the needle flash to and fro.
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