’ ‘Believe me, she wouldn’t have cared. "Hoity-toity! You owe me sixteen thousand dollars. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. First, I went to Country Tom's, the Goat, in Long Lane. 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. That was life. . \" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel.
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