He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. Blueskin, however, was not unattended.
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