The servant bade her wait in the hall while he went to Mr. Gay. He did not trouble to ask her name.

While he was gone Lavinia advanced to the open door, drawn thither by curiosity. A garden grateful to the eye was before her. It had not the grotesque formality of the Dutch style which came over with William of Orange--the prim beds with here and there patches and narrow walks of red, flat bricks, the box trees cut and trimmed in the form of peac.o.c.ks with outstretched tails, animals, anything absurd that the designer fancied. Close to the river bank drooped a willow, and a wide spreading cedar overspread a portion of the lawn.

Underneath the cedar four men were sitting round a table strewn with papers. Lavinia easily recognised the portly form of her patron, Gay.

Next to him was a diminutive man, his face overspread by the pallor of ill-health. He was sitting stiff and bolt upright and upon his head in place of a fashionable flowing wig was a sort of loose cap.

"That must be Mr. Pope, the queer little gentleman the countryman told me of," thought Lavinia.

She saw the servant in a deferential att.i.tude standing for some time between Mr. Pope and Mr. Gay waiting for an opportunity to announce his errand. For the moment the discussion was too absorbing for anyone of the four to pay attention to the man.

"Mr. Rich no high opinion has of either music or musicians," said one of the disputants, a lean, dried-up looking man who spoke with a strong guttural accent. This was Dr. Pepusch, musical director at John Rich's theatre, the "Duke's," Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields.

"Dr. Pepusch is right," rejoined Gay. "That is why I favoured Cibber.

But from his reception of me I doubt if he'll take the risk of staging the play."

"Cibber likes not you, Mr. Gay, and he hates me," said Pope with his acid smile. "He's a poet--or thinks he's one--and poets love not one another. Nothing is so blinding to the merits of others as one's own vanity."

"Nay, Mr. Pope, is not that a.s.sumption too sweeping?" put in the fourth man, of cheerful, rubicund countenance and, like Gay, inclined to corpulency. "What about yourself and Mr. Gay? Is there anyone more conscious of his talents and has done more to foster and encourage them than you? Who spoke and wrote in higher praise of Will Congreve than John Dryden?"

"Your argument's just, Arbuthnot," rejoined Pope. "And that's why I rejoice that the King, his Consort and the Statesman who panders to her spite and lives only for his own ambition have insulted our friend.

Their taste and their appreciation of letters found their level when they considered the author of the 'Trivia' and the 'Fables' was fittingly rewarded by the appointment of 'gentleman usher' to a princess--a footman's place, forsooth!"

It was too true. George the First was dead, George the Second had succeeded and with the change of government Gay hoped to obtain the "sinecure" which would have kept him in comfort to the end of his days.

He was bitterly disappointed. The post bestowed upon him was a degradation.

"Say no more on that head," exclaimed Gay hastily, "I would forget that affront."

"But not forgive. We're all of us free to carry the battle into the enemy's camp and with the more vigour since you are fighting with us, John Gay. The 'Beggar's Opera'--'tis mainly the Dean's idea--the t.i.tle alone is vastly fine--will give you all the chance in the world. Pray do not forget the Dean's verses he sent you 't'other day. They must be set to good music, though for my own part I know not one tune from another."

s.n.a.t.c.hing a sheet of paper from the table Pope, in his thin, piping voice, read with much gusto:--

"Through all the employments of life Each neighbour abuses his brother, Trull and rogue they call husband and wife, All professions be-rogue one another.

"The priest calls the lawyer a cheat, The lawyer be-knaves the divine, And the statesman because he's so great Thinks his trade as honest as mine."

"Aye; that should go home. Faith, I'd give my gold headed cane to see Sir Robert's face when he hears those lines," laughed the cheery physician. "Who will sing them, Mr. Gay?"

"I know not yet; we've settled upon very few things. Our good musician, Dr. Pepusch, is ready whenever I hand him the verses and the tunes to set them to. Why, I've not decided the names of the characters, and that let me tell you, doctor, is no easy matter. I call the first wench Peggy Peachum, but it doesn't please me. I----"

At that moment Pope caught sight of his man fidgetting first on one foot and then on the other.

"What d'ye want sirrah?" demanded the poet irritably.

"A young girl, sir, desires to see Mr. Gay. She couldn't tell me her business with him."

A roar of laughter was heard, in the midst of which Gay looked puzzled and a trifle foolish.

"Oh poor Gay, to think thy light damsels cannot let thee alone but must follow thee to my pure Eve-less abode," said Pope mockingly.

"Nay, 'tis nothing of the kind. You accuse me unjustly. I know no light o' love. To prove it your servant shall bring the girl here and you may see her for yourself. I've no love secrets."

"What if you had, man? No one would blame you. Not I for one. Get as much enjoyment as you can out of life, but not in excess. 'Tis excess that kills," said Arbuthnot laying his hand on Gay's.

There was a meaning in the contact which emphasised the doctor's words.

Self indulgence was Gay's failing as all his friends knew.

"Well--well," rejoined Gay somewhat embarra.s.sed. "Be it so, I--conduct the girl hither--have I your permission, Mr. Pope?"

"With all my heart--provided she's worth looking at."

"I know nothing of her looks. Quick, Stephen, your master and these gentlemen are impatient."

The man hastened away to the house and presently was seen crossing the lawn with Lavinia by his side.

"'Faith, you've good taste, Mr. Gay," said Arbuthnot with a chuckle. "A trim built wench, upon my word. And she knows how to walk. She hasn't the mincing gait of the city madams of the Exchange nor the flaunting strut of the dames of the Mall or the Piazza."

Gay made no reply. The girl's carriage and walk were indeed natural and there was something in both which was familiar to him. But he could not fix them. He would have to wait until the sheltering hood was raised and the face revealed.

This came about when Lavinia was a couple of yards or so from the man.

Gay bent forward and rose slightly from his chair. An expression half startled, half puzzled stole over his face.

"Gad! Polly--or am I dreaming?"

"Lavinia sir," came the demure answer accompanied by a drooping of the long lashes and a low curtsey.

"Lavinia of course, but to me always Polly. Gentlemen, this is Miss Lavinia Fenton, the nightingale I once told you of."

"Aye," rejoined Pope, "I remember. She was flying wild in the fragrant groves of St. Giles and you limed her. Good. Now that she's here she must give us a sample of her powers. I pray that your nightingale, Mr.

Gay, be not really a guinea fowl. Your good nature might easily make you imagine one to be the other."

"I protest. You are thinking of yourself. I'll swear you cannot tell the difference. You put all the music you have into your verse. I doubt if you could even whistle 'Lillibulero,' though there's not a snub nosed urchin in his Majesty's kingdom who can't bawl it."

"That may be, but I can neither whistle nor am I a snub-nosed urchin. I apologise for my defects," retorted the poet.

A general laugh followed at this and Gay, somewhat discomfited, turned to Lavinia.

"Now, Polly, what has brought you here, child? But looking at you I doubt if I ought to call you child. 'Tis months since I saw thee and I vow in that time you've become a young woman."

"I'm very sorry, sir. I could not help it," said Lavinia meekly.

"Help it! Faith, no! 'Tis very meritorious of you. But tell me. Has the admirable Miss Pinwell granted you a holiday, or is it your birthday and you've come for a present, or what?"

"Neither the one nor the other, sir. I--I rather think I've left school."

"Left school! And without apprising me who am, you know, in a way sponsor for you? But may be you've written the d.u.c.h.ess?"