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. "Is there no charity? Isn't it understood?" "Of course it is! In the present instance I can offer it and you can't, or shouldn't. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing. It could not be she who had done this. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. “I believe that he would bore me. “My God!” he said again.
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