The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. It was—in connection with this man Hill. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. "My head fairly turns round. It should be the happiest day of your life, and I would not detract from its happiness by letting you remember for a moment that there are others to whom your inevitable decision must bring some pain. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. *** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought. Locked! He sped out to the corridor and went swiftly into the next room.
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