If individuality means anything it means breaking bounds— adventure. Sydney was watching her eagerly. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. 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.
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