Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. CHAPTER XVIII. This is a mere boy. 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. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. " "Thames, I have much to say," said Jack, "much that concerns your safety. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told.
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