" The girl smiled and began to munch a sandwich. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. It was her job to keep the house as neat as a pin, up to the high standard that Sheila expected, being a nurse. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. We are going to have this chap writing books one of these days. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes.
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