‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. She could feel her face turning beet red. She shut the door behind her. 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. “My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house. Wood," observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone.
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