Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. 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. " The elderly domestic bowed, took up the case, and retired.
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