Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. Once he suggested they should go to a music-hall and see a wonderful new dancer, but Ann Veronica did not feel she cared to see a new dancer. The plank hung over his head. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. "What's the particular dope?" "If I told you, you would laugh," answered Ah Cum, gravely. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity.
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