James Boyle O'Higgins knew little or nothing of the South Seas, but he knew human beings, all colours. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. Anna passed serenely out. Lucia had never been so happy, so content. You don’t want to miss the sport. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice.
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