Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. 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’m covered. It was really very jolly to talk to a man in this way—who saw the woman in her and did not treat her as a child. "Then I'll have it before to-morrow morning," said the keeper of the New Prison, to himself. “I can’t help saying it,” she said, with the quality of her voice altering, “but I do NOT think it is right for an unprotected girl to be in London alone as you are. He whispered in her ear. “Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. Fortescue’s steps, and encountered him with an air of artless surprise. “It was a phase,” she said.
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