piquant raillery, any girl was good enough for him. He was of the time
when a love intrigue was a necessary part of a man's life, and not
infrequently of a woman's too.

Successful lover though he had been he was not all conquering. The
ballad singer's tender liquid tones carried his memory back to the
low-born girl with the laughing eyes who had captured his heart. She
sold oranges about the door of the Court of Requests, she sang ballads
in the street, she was a little better than a light of love, yet
Bolingbroke could never claim her as his own. It angered him sorely
that she had a smile for others. But he bore her no malice, or he would
hardly have written his poetical tribute commencing:--


"Dear, thoughtless Clara, to my verse attend,
Believe for once the lover and the friend."


So Gay's words were unheeded. A heavy step sounded on the sanded floor.
A big man with features formed on an ample mould had entered. Gay was
entranced by the singer and did not hear him. The newcomer stood
silently behind the poet. He too, was listening intently.

The girl's voice died into a cadence. Gay beckoned to her and she came
up to the window.

"Finely sung, Polly," cried Gay. "Who taught thee, child?"

"I taught myself, sir," said she dropping a curtsey.