She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. ” “I’ll wait, then. He knew. ” The brutality of his first astonishment was evaporating. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it.
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