She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Mr. "Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs. ” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully.
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