" "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie. ” “I began to be afraid you might not come at all. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. ‘Precisely. ‘Gerald had to change both shirt and breeches. “I am sick of it. The two aunts of these young ladies lived for many years in the dower house upon my estate in Hampshire.
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