‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. 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. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. I hate what I have to do to survive. Sanguine they were not. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. You have only to look resolute and proceed upon your way. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace.
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