Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. 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. “She must,” said Mr. I can’t forget about your sister.
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