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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. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. “Compromise—and kindness. Her father held some printed document in his hand, and appeared not to observe her entry. “But if my manner tells! I cannot help it if that shows. ” She refused. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint.
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