“He is one of our guests—perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time. That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. Capes became rigid and adhesive. Ann Veronica stared at his foolish, propitiatory smile, his hungry gaze, through one moment of amazement, then stepped aside and went on her way with a quickened step. “Go from me, husband!” With a flourish he brought her arms behind her and her body was slammed to the floor. 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.
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