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Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. 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. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. ’ ‘But, no,’ cried Melusine anxiously. It was Annabel who spoke.
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