’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. Only a son’s another story. . I simply warn you. 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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