’ ‘Was it yours?’ Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. ’ Melusine fought down the raw emotion that threatened to overwhelm her and drew a steadying breath. I miss her a lot. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. ’ Melusine jumped. ’ She thrust him out of the room and made for the stairs. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. 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. ” She said. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. I ought never to have thought of it.
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