CHAPTER VIII.
MARRIOT.
I have hinted that Marriot was our sentimental member. He was seldom sentimental until after midnight, and then only when he and I were alone. Why he should have chosen me as the pail into which to pour his troubles I cannot say. I let him talk on, and when he had ended I showed him plainly that I had been thinking most of the time about something else. Whether Marriot was entirely a humbug or the most conscientious person on our stair, readers may decide. He was fond of argument if you did not answer him, and often wanted me to tell him if I thought he was in love; if so, why did I think so; if not, why not. What makes me on reflection fancy that he was sincere is that in his statements he would let his pipe go out.
Of course I cannot give his words, but he would wait till all my other guests had gone, then softly lock the door, and returning to the cane-chair empty himself in some such way as this:
"I have something I want to talk to you about. Pass me a spill. Well, it is this. Before I came
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