Ah Cum presented his black-bordered card to such individuals as seemed likely to require his services. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. It would hurt no one. It is only the women matter. 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 was an Egyptian, from the magical times. Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. I can’t afford to get behind. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. After all, life had still its pulsations.
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