His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. He was looking pale and ill. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. The lad looked alarmed. "You heard me say it! It was inevitable.
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