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“Let us go to that little place at the back of the Palace. I want to get away—to go to London. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. "But never mind who, or what I am. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. 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. G'night, kids.
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