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 had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. But that instinct is severely dampened most of the time. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. A common rage flushed their faces. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. He turned his back on that temptation. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. ” He admonished. " "Decidedly so," replied Edgeworth Bess; "and I'll take this opportunity, while Jack's back is turned,—for he's grown so strangely particular,—of easing him of his snuff-box. ’ He shifted unguardedly, and hissed a breath, wincing. ‘Mary was indeed naïve, but there I should say the similarity ends.
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