"Pardon my presumption, I was asking whether I might have the privilege of knowing your name." "Oh yes. Lavinia Fenton. But that's all I can tell you. You mustn't ask where I live." "I'm not curious. I'm quite contented with what you choose to let me know." "And with that little are you quite sure you'll trust me with your play? Suppose I lose it or am robbed?" "I must take my chance. I've a rough draft of the whole and also all the parts written out separately. I wouldn't think of doubting you. But do you know where to find Mr. Gay?" "Oh yes. He lives at the house of his friend, Her Grace the Duchess of Queensberry." "That is so," rejoined Vane in a tone of evident relief. Her answer convinced him that what she said about knowing Gay was true. "I can only promise to deliver it to him and if possible place it in his own hands. Do you believe me?" "Indeed I do. And will you see me again and bring me an answer?" "Why, of course," said she smilingly. He insisted upon attending her down the staircase and when they were in the dark passage down below they bade each other adieu, he kissing her extended hand with a courteous bow which became him well. Vane watched her thread her way along poverty-stricken Grub Street, and slowly ascended the staircase to his garret sighing deeply. CHAPTER X IN THE CHAPTER COFFEE HOUSE It was nearly six o'clock when Lavinia stood on the broad steps of Queensberry House behind Burlington Gardens. Now that she was staring at the big door between the high railings with their funnel shaped link extinguishers pointing downward at her on either side her courage seemed to be slipping from her. The grotesque faces supporting the triangular portico seemed to be mocking her, the enormous knocker transformed itself into a formidable obstacle. The adventures of the last forty-eight hours had suddenly presented themselves to the girl's mind in all their enormity. It occurred to her for the first time that she had not only thrown away the chance of her life, but that she had been guilty of black ingratitude to her benefactors. And her folly in permitting the fancy to rove towards Archibald Dorrimore, for whose foppishness she had a contempt, simply because he was rich! The recollection of this caused her the bitterest pang of all. How could she justify her conduct to Mr. Gay! Would he not look upon her as a light o' love ready to bestow smiles upon any man who flattered her? Well, she wouldn't attempt to justify herself. Mr. Gay was a poet. He would understand. But the terrible duchess--Kitty of Queensberry who feared nothing and in the plainest of terms, if she was so minded, expressed her opinion on everything! Lavinia quaked in her shoes at the thought of meeting the high-born uncompromising dame. "But I've promised the poor fellow. I _must_ keep my word. I don't care a bit about myself if I can do that," she murmured.