One transgression; he was sure of that. “Some afternoon. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. 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 air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. "It seems like six long months to me. " "Are you sure of that?" returned Winifred, looking uneasily at Jack.
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