In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. 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. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you. I must!” She threw open the door and pointed to it. ‘I must get a handkerchief. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment. On this side of the canal she has no place to go. "Now come along, Jack. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. He was—a millionaire.
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