Still success was not assured. True Polly captivated her hearers with her sweet natural delivery of "Can love be controlled by advice?" and afterwards with the tender pathos of "Oh ponder well," and there were roars of laughter and half suppressed chuckles from the men and titters from the women at the witty talk and the cynical hits at love and matrimonial felicity, but it was not until Spiller led the rousing choruses, "Fill every glass," and "Let us take the road," the latter adapted to the march from Handel's opera of "Rinaldo," then all the rage, that they were won over. The experienced Duke of Argyll cried out aloud enough for Pope in the next box to hear him, "It'll do--it must do--I see it in the eyes of 'em." And the duke was right. When all was said and done pretty Polly Peachum was the pivot around which success revolved. Within twenty-four hours all the town was talking of her bewitching face, her artless manner, her sweet voice. The sordid surroundings of Newgate, its thieves, male and female, its thieve takers, gave zest to her naturalness and simplicity. Moreover she was not in a fashionable dress, she wore no hoops (and neither did Lucy) and this in itself was a novelty and a contrast. It was some time after the performance that Lavinia--whom everyone now called Polly--left the theatre. The noblemen who had seats on the stage crowded round her overwhelming her with compliments and looks of admiration. One of their number, a man of portly presence at least twice her age, whose face suggested good nature but little else, was assiduous in his attentions. Lavinia accepted his flattery as a matter of course, and thought nothing more about him. She was told he was the Duke of Bolton, but duke or earl made no difference to her. Some of her titled admirers offered to escort her home but she shook her head laughingly and refused everyone. She knew very well that Lancelot Vane would be waiting for her as usual at the stage door, and she did not intend either to disappoint him or make him jealous. She joined him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with excitement. Vane looked eagerly and anxiously into her face and gave a little sigh. "Well," said she, "are you disappointed with me?" "Disappointed! Good heavens, no. Why Lavinia--" "Lavinia," she cried tossing her head coquettishly. "Polly if you please. Polly is to be my name for ever after. Everybody knows me now as Polly, though dear Mr. Gay called me so long and long ago. Isn't it wonderful how his words have come true?" "Mr. Gay is a clever man--a great man. I wish--" "Yes, and what do you wish? Something nice I hope." "I don't know about that. My wish was that I had been born a real poet and dramatist and had written 'The Beggar's Opera' for you. But my wits are dull--like myself." "Please don't be foolish. I want you to tell me how I sang--how I acted. You didn't mind Tom Walker making love to me?"