Go away,’ came fretfully from Prudence Sindlesham, and Melusine heaved a sigh as she looked towards the butler, who was making his stately way to the door. Luckily, Mrs. Posts were offered to all who chose to accept them. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. ’ She grimaced. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. 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. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. But it looked as if the boy was not going to be of much use. ’ She edged sideways a little more, her eyes on the pistol in his hand.
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