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. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. ‘I should never have told you. ” He said. ‘But that is easy.
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