Sans lui rien n'est complet, sans lui rien ne rayonne.
La beante c'est le front. l'amour c'est la couronne.
Laisse-toi couronner!"
His own lines sounded a sad jingle; he grew ashamed of them, and in
the weariness of his passions he fell asleep.
He had left till to-morrow the visit he owed to John Jacks. It was
not pleasant, the thought of calling at the house at Queen's Gate;
Mrs. Jacks might have heard strange things about him on that mad
evening three years ago. Yet in decency he must go; perhaps, too, in
self-interest. And at the wonted hour he went.
Fortunately; for John Jacks seemed unfeignedly glad to see him, and
talked with him in private for half an hour after the observances of
the drawing-room, where Mrs. Jacks had been very sweetly proper and
properly sweet. In the library, much more at his ease, Otway told
what he had before him, all the details of his commercial project.
"It occurs to me," said John Jacks--who was looking far from well,
and at times spoke with an effort--"that I may be able to be of
some use in this matter. I'll think about it, and--leave me your
address--I shall probably write to you. And now tell me all about
your father. He is hale and hearty?"
"In excellent health, I think," Piers replied cheerfully. "Dante
suffices him still."
"Odd that you should have come to-day. I don't know why, I was
thinking of your father all last night--I don't sleep very well
just now.
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