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. "One motive alone shall induce me to go on with you," said Jack. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. Light flooded the place. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities.
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