It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. Certainly you have a reason. Now drop it. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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