"No, no. Not a line. You would think it tedious. I'll wait for Mr. Gay's opinion, and if that's favourable I would like with your permission to introduce a part for you." "What, in a tragedy? I can't see myself trying to make people weep." "But it wouldn't be a tragic part. While we've been talking it has occurred to me that the play would be improved by a little comedy." "Yes," rejoined Lavinia eagerly, "by a character something like Cherry in the 'Beaux Stratagem?'" "H'm," rejoined Vane. "Not quite so broad and vivacious as Cherry. That would be out of keeping." "I'd dearly love to play Cherry," said Lavinia meditatively. "You'd be admirable I doubt not, but----" "Would the part you'd introduce have a song in it?" "H'm," coughed the dramatist again. "Hardly. There are no songs in tragedies." "I don't see why there shouldn't be. I love singing. When I'm an actress I must have songs. Mr. Gay says so." "Then you've not been on the stage?" "No, but I hope I shall be soon. I dream of nothing else." Vane looked at her inquiringly. To his mind the girl seemed made for love. Surely a love affair must have been the cause of the escapade on London Bridge. How came she to be alone with a gallant in his carriage at that time of night? But he dared not put any questions to her. Her love affairs were nothing to him--so he tried to persuade himself. He was now busy in tying up the manuscript in a sheet of paper and Lavinia was thinking hard. The question was, what was to become of her? She had no home, for she had made up her mind she would not go back to her mother and Miss Pinwell was equally impossible. This impeccable spinster would never condone such an offence as that of which she had been guilty. Neither did Lavinia wish the compromising affair to be known in the school and talked about. She felt she had left conventional schooling for ever and she yearned to go back to life--but not the same life in which her early years had been passed. Another worry was her shortness of money. She had but a trifle left out of the guinea her brooch had fetched. In the old days she could have soon earned a shilling or two by singing outside and inside taverns. But what she had done as a beggar maid could not be thought of in her fine clothes. And during the last six months, with good food, regular hours and systematic drilling, she had shot up half a head. She was a grown woman, and she felt instinctively that as such and with the winsome face Nature had bestowed upon her, singing outside taverns would be considered by men as a blind for something else. In addition she looked back upon her former occupation with loathing. It could not be denied that she was in an awkward plight. She was so absorbed that she did not hear Vane who finished tieing up the packet speaking to her. Suddenly she became aware of his voice and she turned to him in some confusion. "I beg your pardon. You were saying----"