It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. 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. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. Acknowledge your faults. " There was a pause. I couldn’t sit down for a week!” “Oh, how terrible for you.
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