’ She tossed her head. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. 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. Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both Testaments a word had been blotted out. ’ ‘Captain Roding, sir,’ put in Gerald, adding on a jocular note, ‘Another of the green whippersnappers you had to contend with some years back. My nerves were in rags. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else.
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