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 did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. ” Diane’s voice resonated up the stairs. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. He still watched her and questioned her.
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