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I have since received a most extraordinary letter from her. “Yeah. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. 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. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. “When one is happy—I don’t like to think of them. That is why I came to London. On the appearance of the thief-taker, Mrs. Kneebone, Van Galgebrok, and Baptist Kettleby—all of whom greeted him cordially.
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