The tension was palpable. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. By the old regulations, the free use of strong liquors not being interdicted, a tap-house was kept in the Lodge, and also in a cellar on the Common Side,—under the superintendence of Mrs. Gerald’s breath caught. But then the features changed. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas.
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