"Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. And now for the fawney— the ring I mean. " "You!" cried the tapstress, with a look of horror: "Never!" "Confusion!" muttered Jack, suddenly pausing in his task, "the saw has broken just as I am through the spike. She understood. But the morning brought courage again, and those first intimations of horror vanished completely from her mind.
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