" The Wastrel laughed. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. Just then—I was nervous. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. Not enough of them to make a difference.
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