They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret.
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