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. “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. Her heart thudded. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. It was after all a momentary affair. “You left the TV on when you fell asleep in the living room, so I turned it off. “You certainly got him in the bag.
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