Mrs. Quilt was not long in following his example. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. “We can be alone?” She inquired. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake. 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. ’ Amazed, Melusine stared at him.
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