“Does he live here?” he asked her presently. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. "Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs. She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. 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. Spurling, hastening to the rescue. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. “No, the only person I told before tonight was my mother and father.
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