“As I have explained many a time, Lucia, the maladies of the blood and flesh do not afflict us. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. “Well,” she achieved at last. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards 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.
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