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“By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. 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. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door. He picked up the remote and sat himself to her right. Take it, if I die.
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