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. “What do you think of that?” he asked. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Then it was the woman herself who was changed. Your old rooms are there, if you choose.
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