“Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. 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. "He left an envelope with some money in it. Charley Pevenill was our host. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket.
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