For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. 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. — Am I to understand that you intend to plead guilty, Sir Rowland?" he added. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. " She laughed; and it was pleasant laughter in his ears. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort.
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