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" "My conscience acquits me of all share in the offence," replied Jack, humbly. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. He saw, without any particular regret, that this year he would have to forego the junket; but there would be ample compensation in the study of these queer youngsters. . . " "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard.
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