Manning; and repeated, “a sort of history. " "Save yourself, Jack!" shouted Thames, sinking beneath the superior weight and strength of his opponent; "leave me to my fate!" "Never," replied Jack, hurrying towards him. "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. “It’s the spring,” he said. This door, which was open, Jonathan locked and took out the key. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. He turned, expecting to see his wife. 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. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament.
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