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. It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. We remember it. By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links.
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