It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. “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. 62 <8> A FIRST DATE WITH JOHN DIEDERMAYER The weekend began for her with that luxury of all luxuries, sleep. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. “Do you think that it is kind of you, Miss Pellissier,” he said, almost roughly, “to ignore your friends so? In your heart you know quite well that you could pay Sydney or me no greater compliment than to give us just a little of your confidence.
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