“Well?” she said. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. "Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer. She is called Madame Ibstock, you understand. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised.
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