All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. 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. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall.
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