"And now," cried Jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with which all I have yet done shall be as nothing!" CHAPTER XVII. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. As far as I recollect, there were two. Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward.
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