Lavinia, upon whom the good Hannah had pressed all the coins that were in her pocket, gave the man a few coppers and summoning her courage she grasped the bell-pull hanging by the door in the wall fronting the house. Her nerves were somewhat scattered and she could not say whether the clang encouraged or depressed her. May be the latter, for a sudden desire seized her to run away. But before desire had become decision the door in the wall had opened and a soberly attired man-servant was staring at her inquiringly. Lavinia regained her courage. "I want to see Mr. Gay please. I'm told he's staying with Mr. Pope." "Aye. What's your business?" "That's with Mr. Gay, not with you," rejoined Lavinia sharply. The man either disdained to bandy words or had no retort ready. He admitted the visitor and conducted her into the house. Lavinia found herself in a small hall, stone paved, with a door on either side. The hall ran from the front to the back of the house and at the end a door opened into a wooden latticed porch. Beyond was a picturesque garden and further still the river shining in the sun. She heard men talking and apparently disputing. The shrill tones of one voice dominated the rest. The servant bade her wait in the hall while he went to Mr. Gay. He did not trouble to ask her name. While he was gone Lavinia advanced to the open door, drawn thither by curiosity. A garden grateful to the eye was before her. It had not the grotesque formality of the Dutch style which came over with William of Orange--the prim beds with here and there patches and narrow walks of red, flat bricks, the box trees cut and trimmed in the form of peacocks with outstretched tails, animals, anything absurd that the designer fancied. Close to the river bank drooped a willow, and a wide spreading cedar overspread a portion of the lawn. Underneath the cedar four men were sitting round a table strewn with papers. Lavinia easily recognised the portly form of her patron, Gay. Next to him was a diminutive man, his face overspread by the pallor of ill-health. He was sitting stiff and bolt upright and upon his head in place of a fashionable flowing wig was a sort of loose cap. "That must be Mr. Pope, the queer little gentleman the countryman told me of," thought Lavinia. She saw the servant in a deferential attitude standing for some time between Mr. Pope and Mr. Gay waiting for an opportunity to announce his errand. For the moment the discussion was too absorbing for anyone of the four to pay attention to the man. "Mr. Rich no high opinion has of either music or musicians," said one of the disputants, a lean, dried-up looking man who spoke with a strong guttural accent. This was Dr. Pepusch, musical director at John Rich's theatre, the "Duke's," Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields. "Dr. Pepusch is right," rejoined Gay. "That is why I favoured Cibber. But from his reception of me I doubt if he'll take the risk of staging the play."