By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. ’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. ” “Eh?” “I’ve forgotten something. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil.
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