As she did so the preparation-room door opened behind her. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound.
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