The lonely widows of robber barons found him irresistible and he was the guest of many a fine table. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. A man as rich as you are ought to have a thousand-ton yacht. There was no need to be afraid for me. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. 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.
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