The door closed softly upon her. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. ’ He laughed. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. ToC Mrs. 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. " "Oh, that!" she said, with a deprecating gesture. ” The two women shook hands. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. “It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so little in return.
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