The helicopter lifted from her hand and hovered in the air. 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. I might forgive him that, for he obviously taught her a good deal that she has found useful. Some one was standing beside him. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours.
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