He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about. You’re not to go. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. 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. Heaven knows why! They don’t marry most of us off now until high up in the twenties.
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