The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. He savored the last solo, the coda. Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected. Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. Let us proceed with our tale. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. Good night!" "Well, if you won't be persuaded, and must have a boat, Owen," observed the landlord, "there's a waterman asleep on that bench will help you to as tidy a craft as any on the Thames. And when Manning was not about the thing seemed simple enough. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter.
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