Hill,” she said graciously. But about his unknown rival he was acutely curious. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. Few men could have done as much. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. But leave me here in my home, child, I will disintegrate if I am exposed. Let me walk you to the door. " Immediately he stepped back. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish.
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