"Then you're in favour with the Princess and her obedient servant Sir Robert—or is Walpole her master? What will the Dean of St. Patrick and Mr. Pope say to your surrender?"
"No, no. I will never write a word in praise of either. There's not a word in the 'Fables' that can be twisted into bolstering up the Government."
"And you think to receive your comfortable 'place' out of pure admiration of your poetical gifts? My poor Gay!"
"No. Friendship."
"Well, well, you must go your own way or you wouldn't be a poet. I leave you to your commendable work of rescuing damsels in distress."
And after refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff Bolingbroke with a wave of the hand to Gay and his friends strode from the room leaving the poet with his pleasant face somewhat overcast.
But his chagrin did not last long. His natural buoyancy asserted itself and he beckoned to Lavinia who was sitting primly on the edge of the hard chair, her folded hands resting on her lap. Before she could cross the room Spiller and Leveridge took up Bolingbroke's argument, and urged Gay not to meddle further in the matter.
"Nay, why should I not? It would be a shame and a pity that so much good talent should be wasted on the groundlings of St. Giles. Besides, there is the girl herself," Gay lowered his voice. "You wouldn't have her be like Sally Salisbury, Jemmy, would you? She has a good and innocent nature. It will be torn to tatters if she be not looked after now. No. Neither you nor Dick Leveridge will talk me out of my intent. Do you see what misguided youth may easily come to? Look at your friend Vane."
Gay pointed to the sleeping young man.
"I know—I know. The young fool," returned Spiller a little angrily. "Wine is Lancelot Vane's only weakness—well, not the only one, any pretty face turns his head."