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. But there was a face pressed to the glass. Leonardo was to me nothing at all. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. I'm always agreeable to the women, bless their kind hearts! Now! slip the purse into my hand. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. .
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