CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. ’ ‘Did I so?’ Gerald said, amused. 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 kiss was powerfully moving. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon.
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