Gay ran over the titles 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 principal 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 passed. 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 embarrassment 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."