It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. 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. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. I've an idea it'll be that long before the chap gets up. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving the eternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always remember that embrace. So they fenced with smiles.
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