"Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. “There is something which I must say to you. CHAPTER XXIV. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. ‘What do we do now?’ Gerald took a pace towards the girl. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. 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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