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. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. ‘It is what my father intended. The Supper at Mr. "Constance is yet living. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her.
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