The lady, who was indeed stunning, Gerald suddenly realised, said never a word. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. But I liked the things you said here. 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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