He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. "I cannot but approve the course you are about to take, Jack," said Thames, "though on some accounts I regret it. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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