There is no Benison like mine,
I have a'maist no care,
But when another swain, my fair,
Shall say 'You're fair to view,'
Let Jeany whisper in his ear,
'Pray, what is that to you?'"
There was loud applause.
"I only sang it for Mr. Rock," said the Nun, relapsing into a demureness which had not consistently marked her rendering of the song.
Released from Jack's imprisoning eye, the Bird darted to Andy and delivered his delayed message. "Mr. Harry—Andy, if you'd step into the street, sir—Andy, I mean—(the Bird was confused as to social distinctions)—he's waiting—and looking infernally put out!"
"He wants me—outside? Why doesn't he come in? Well, I'll go." Andy rose to his feet.