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. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. “Sure. ” Ennison looked steadily at the cigarette which he was tapping on his forefinger. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window.
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