Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. Mr. Jack fell on his knees beside her. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. She did not therefore reveal to him that he had guaged her with accuracy. Later, she would sew it on. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. "I've known him all my life," replied the other.
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