The night was now profoundly dark. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. "Then you need no further information from me," rejoined Jackson, sternly. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible.
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