Does it?” “I think it does. ‘I am perfectly devoted to him, as well he knows. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. “Very well,” he said, “I will go.
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