"A young girl, sir, desires to see Mr. Gay. She couldn't tell me her business with him." A roar of laughter was heard, in the midst of which Gay looked puzzled and a trifle foolish. "Oh poor Gay, to think thy light damsels cannot let thee alone but must follow thee to my pure Eve-less abode," said Pope mockingly. "Nay, 'tis nothing of the kind. You accuse me unjustly. I know no light o' love. To prove it your servant shall bring the girl here and you may see her for yourself. I've no love secrets." "What if you had, man? No one would blame you. Not I for one. Get as much enjoyment as you can out of life, but not in excess. 'Tis excess that kills," said Arbuthnot laying his hand on Gay's. There was a meaning in the contact which emphasised the doctor's words. Self indulgence was Gay's failing as all his friends knew. "Well--well," rejoined Gay somewhat embarrassed. "Be it so, I--conduct the girl hither--have I your permission, Mr. Pope?" "With all my heart--provided she's worth looking at." "I know nothing of her looks. Quick, Stephen, your master and these gentlemen are impatient." The man hastened away to the house and presently was seen crossing the lawn with Lavinia by his side. "'Faith, you've good taste, Mr. Gay," said Arbuthnot with a chuckle. "A trim built wench, upon my word. And she knows how to walk. She hasn't the mincing gait of the city madams of the Exchange nor the flaunting strut of the dames of the Mall or the Piazza." Gay made no reply. The girl's carriage and walk were indeed natural and there was something in both which was familiar to him. But he could not fix them. He would have to wait until the sheltering hood was raised and the face revealed. This came about when Lavinia was a couple of yards or so from the man. Gay bent forward and rose slightly from his chair. An expression half startled, half puzzled stole over his face. "Gad! Polly--or am I dreaming?" "Lavinia sir," came the demure answer accompanied by a drooping of the long lashes and a low curtsey. "Lavinia of course, but to me always Polly. Gentlemen, this is Miss Lavinia Fenton, the nightingale I once told you of." "Aye," rejoined Pope, "I remember. She was flying wild in the fragrant groves of St. Giles and you limed her. Good. Now that she's here she must give us a sample of her powers. I pray that your nightingale, Mr. Gay, be not really a guinea fowl. Your good nature might easily make you imagine one to be the other." "I protest. You are thinking of yourself. I'll swear you cannot tell the difference. You put all the music you have into your verse. I doubt if you could even whistle 'Lillibulero,' though there's not a snub nosed urchin in his Majesty's kingdom who can't bawl it." "That may be, but I can neither whistle nor am I a snub-nosed urchin. I apologise for my defects," retorted the poet. A general laugh followed at this and Gay, somewhat discomfited, turned to Lavinia.