Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. . She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door.
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