'Shut up!' roared a loyalist, whose patience could endure no longer.

'We're not going to let a boozing blackguard like you talk in that way about 'er Majesty!' Thereupon, retort of insult, challenge to combat, clamour from many throats, deep and shrill.

Nancy laughed, and would rather have enjoyed it if the men had fought.
At Westminster Bridge all jumped confusedly into the street and ran for the pavement.

It was still broad daylight; the sun--a potentate who keeps no Jubilee--dropping westward amid the hues of summer eventide, was unmarked, for all his splendour, by the roaring multitudes.
'Where are you going to leave us ?' Nancy inquired of her brother.
'Charing Cross, or somewhere about there.' 'Keep by me till then.' Barmby was endeavouring to secure her companionship.

He began to cross the bridge at her side, but Nancy turned and bade him attend upon Miss.
Morgan, saying that she wished to talk with her brother.