"Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. She entered the last room, his bedroom. 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’ll take wine,’ the lady said briefly, turning back instantly to Hilary. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. I saw them both. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it.
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