Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. One only. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. " "He's coming!" cried Jack, stamping his foot, with vexation.
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