Chapter XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters. Plote was sleeping or deaf. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. "Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner.
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