"You know some of these tunes may be, Polly; those you don't know you'll soon learn. I'm going to speak to Mr. Palmer about your singing two or three just to see how the people take 'em. The words will be the old ones, not my new verse. You won't have to trouble about my words yet awhile."

Gay ran over the t.i.tles of the old ballads--Purcell's "What shall I do to show how much I love her?" "Grim King of the Ghosts," "Thomas I cannot," "Now ponder well ye parents dear," "Pretty parrot say," "Over the hills and far away," "Gin thou wert my ain thing," "Cease your funning," "All in the Downs."

"Those are the princ.i.p.al songs," went on Gay.

"Yes, I know a few, but I've never heard of the others," cried Lavinia a little dismayed. "How shall I learn the tunes?"

"You must come to my lodgings in the village and I'll play them over to you on the flute. My friend, Dr. Arbuthnot, will be pleased to hear you sing 'em. It will do him good--perhaps charm away his gout. The doctor knows you."

"Does he, sir? I don't remember him."

"He was at Mr. Pope's villa the day you sang to us. I must have a harpsichord and we must have Dr. Pepusch to tell us what he thinks."

Lavinia heard all this with great delight. She felt she was really not only on the ladder of success but was climbing upwards safely.

Gay then fell to talking of other matters, and incidentally mentioned that John Rich was back from Bath where he had been taking the waters, and that he must be talked into engaging Lavinia permanently when the season opened in October.

"It won't be singing yet awhile Polly, so don't be disappointed if you have to continue to walk on the stage and come off again. I'm told his 'Harlequin' hasn't finished its run so he'll open with that and go on till my opera's ready. I'm all impatience to see you in it."

Then patting her cheek and chucking her under the chin Gay took his leave.

It would have been hard for Lavinia to say how the day pa.s.sed. She walked on the heath for no other purpose, so she said, save to revel in the sunshine and pure air. She had a secret hope that she might encounter Lancelot Vane, but embarra.s.sment was mingled with that hope.

It would be better not, she felt, yet she was disappointed all the same when after strolling about for half an hour she saw nothing of him, and banishing her vain thoughts she went on to the concert room to inquire if she were wanted to sing that night.

"Yes, to be sure," said Palmer. "You're all the talk. I've seen Mr. Gay, and he tells me he's given you some songs he would like you to sing.

Suppose you go over a couple now for me?"

A harpsichord was in the room and Palmer asked her to sing what she liked and he would fill in an accompaniment as best he could as she had not brought the music. She selected "Now ponder well ye parents dear,"

the tender pathos of which had always appealed to her, and "Thomas I cannot," a merry ditty which she knew from her old experience as a street singer would be sure to please. Palmer was delighted with both.

The first he said brought tears to his eyes and the second put him in good humour.

"My dear, you could not have made a better choice. I expect a crowded room and you'll conquer 'em all."

And so she did. There was no longer coldness--no longer indifference.

Everybody was agog with expectation, everybody was pleased. Lavinia's triumph was complete. Night after night it was the same. Palmer had never had so successful a season. He put money in his pocket and he paid his new star fairly well.

Two or three times a week for over a month Lavinia went to Gay's lodgings and rehea.r.s.ed the songs she did not know and those also with which she was already acquainted. The words Gay gave her to sing were not those to which she was accustomed and she found the change confusing. Moreover, at each rehearsal some alterations in the words were made, occasionally by Gay, occasionally at the suggestion of Dr.

Arbuthnot. But she never wearied, and so she was sufficiently rewarded for her trouble when Gay bestowed upon her a word of praise.

But Lancelot Vane?

He came not in spite of his earnest entreaty that she would meet him. At first she was wounded, then she was indignant. She remembered how faithless he had proved, and all her bitterness against him and Sally Salisbury revived. Then came a revulsion of feeling. Why should he not be ill? Nay, he might even be dead. Perhaps worse. If he had carried out his despairing threat? She pictured him floating on the surface of a Hampstead pond and a shudder went over her at the gruesome thought.

Finally she subsided into dull resignation and strove to think no more about him.

It was September; with the colder weather came the waning of the Hampstead season, the fashionable folk were returning to London and preparing for masquerades, ridottos, the theatres and the opera. The Great Room concerts were but thinly attended and for a whole fortnight Lavinia had not sung twice. But this did not matter to her. She had been written to by John Rich, and he had engaged her at a little higher salary than he had hitherto paid.

Lavinia sang for the last time at Hampstead and quitted the Great Room not without regrets and doubts. Would she be as successful at the Duke's Theatre? Would she have her chance? She well knew the rivalries a rising actress would have to encounter. But what disturbed her most was that Gay's enthusiasm over his opera did not seem so keen as it had been. She dared not ask him the cause of his depression. She could only watch his varying moods and hope the melancholy ones would pa.s.s.

Hitherto Betty had always been waiting for her to accompany her across the heath, but this last night she was not in her usual place at the door. Lavinia was not surprised as Betty had a bad cold. She hurried out, anxious to get home. Some one a yard or so from the entrance shrank into the darkness as she pa.s.sed out but not so rapidly that he was not noticed and recognised.

Lavinia was full of generous impulses that evening. Everything had gone so well with her, and the future in spite of her doubts was so bright.

"Mr. Vane," she cried and moved a step towards him. "Do I frighten you that you don't want to see me?"

"No," she heard him say, but it was with difficulty for his voice was so low. "I'm not frightened but I'm afraid of what you might say or think."

"You don't give me a chance of the one or the other," she retorted. "You don't keep your own appointments. 'Tis a bad habit of forgetfulness with women, it's worse with men."

"You're right, but in my case 'tis not forgetfulness. I've seen you every time you've sung. I've not missed once."

"And you've never acknowledged my presence! Thank you."

"I was at fault there, I suppose. I kept my happiness to myself. I ought to have thanked you for the joy of seeing and hearing you but I was doubtful whether I should not be intruding."

"It would have been no intrusion," rejoined Lavinia her tone softening.

"Then I hope my admiration is not an impertinence."

"Oh, you're too modest, Mr. Vane. You've no confidence in yourself--save when you've need to strike a blow."

"I've no confidence that I'm acceptable to you and--but may I accompany you across the heath? I notice that your usual bodyguard is absent to-night."

"Oh, you've noticed _that_. May be that bodyguard prevented what you're pleased to call your intrusion."

"It made no difference. Had you been alone I should have taken care that you reached home safely but you would not have known that I was within call. May I?"

He had offered his arm. She accepted it. Now that he was close to her she could see that he had vastly improved. His unhealthy pallor was gone, his eyes had lost their gla.s.siness, his step was firm, his body more elastic.

They set out. For a few yards not a word was said. Lavinia was the first to speak.

"I hope the Hampstead ponds have lost their attraction," said she lightly.

"Indeed yes--thanks to you. My mother says it is due to the Hampstead air, but I know better. Is it true that I'm no longer to drink of the elixir that is restoring me to health and sanity? Are you going to leave Hampstead?"

"Yes, I'm returning to London. Mr. Rich has given me an engagement."

"I congratulate you. You're fortunate, but your fortune's not more than you deserve. You're going to be famous. I'm sure of it."

"Well--and you? You'll be writing something soon, won't you?"

"I think not. I've no mind to court failure a second time. My father has secured me a post at a mercers in Ludgate Hill. I'm still to mingle with books but they're not of the sort which used to interest me. They have to do with figures. I've undertaken to keep the accounts."

"I wish you success. Mind you keep 'em correctly. I've my doubts about that," rejoined Lavinia with a little laugh. "But I mustn't discourage you."

"You'll never do that. I love even your chiding."

"That's nonsense."

"It's true. I swear it."