Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. . . ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. Then he paused. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. ’ He held his hands out of the way, surrendering his chest for her assault. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket.
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