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A remittance man. 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 aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. Ann Veronica passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser. . "The gentleman under the table," she answered.
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