He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. "Where are you going?" she asked. 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. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Men were going hither and thither with barrows, and ladders and ropes, removing the rubbish, and trying to support the tottering habitations.
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