“Jonathan Wild,” interposed Gay. “I knew it. By the by, Mr. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?”
“Me!—no, Sir,” stammered Hogarth, colouring. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him.
“I suppose I was mistaken,” returned Gay. “You've been quizzing my friend Kent, I perceive, in your Burlington Gate.”
“A capital caricature that,” remarked Thornhill, laughing. “What does Mr. Kent say to it?”
“He thinks so highly of it, that he says if he had a daughter he would give her to the artist,” answered Gay, a little maliciously.
“Ah!” exclaimed Sir James.
“'Sdeath!” cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. “You've ruined my hopes.”
“Advanced them rather,” replied Gay, in the same tone. “Miss Thornhill's a charming girl. I think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor. But, if I were in your place, I know what I'd do—”
“What—what would you do?” asked Hogarth, eagerly.
“Run away with her,” replied Gay.