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He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. “Forgive me,” he said. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. Wood scarcely knew where he was. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. Nicholas is dead. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. 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. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. I have always hated it.
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