She rolled to one side. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. Though he never seen so much of Miss Mary as I did. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards.
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