"Mr. Vane had no business to think anything of the kind. Doesn't he know that nothing in this world can be taken for granted? I've committed the folly myself too often not to know that placing faith in other people is vanity and vexation." "Yes, sir. But you'll read Mr. Vane's play all the same, won't you?" "What a wheedling baggage it is," muttered Gay. And he held the parcel and resisted the impulse to give it back to Lavinia and to tell her that he had neither time nor inclination to read other men's plays. His own play was sufficient for him at that moment. CHAPTER XIII "I'M FIXED ON POLLY PEACHUM" Lavinia saw she had nearly conquered and cried:--"Let me untie the knot. I was sure you would not say no." Gay was like wax in her hands. He permitted her to snatch the parcel and attack the knot. Between her deft fingers and pearly teeth she had the string off and the parcel open in a trice. She held the manuscript under Gay's nose. He could not help seeing the title, writ large as it was. "Love's Blindness: A Tragedy in Five Acts. By Lancelot Vane," he read with a rueful look. "Mercy on me, Polly, you never told me it was a tragedy. Oh, this is very--very sad." "But Mr. Gay, aren't all tragedies sad?" "Oh, I confess some are comic enough in all conscience. But that was not in my mind. It was that any sane man should waste time in writing a tragedy. The worst thing about a tragedy is that the playwright's friends are pestered to read it and audiences tired by sitting it out. Aren't there tragedies enough in real life without men inventing 'em?" "Indeed, I can't say, sir." "I suppose not. You're not old enough. Tragedy doesn't come to the young and when it does they don't understand and perhaps 'tis as well. But I'll have to humour you or I shall never hear the last of it. Put the parcel up again and I'll look at the contents at my leisure. Now to a much more entertaining matter--yourself. Have you practised your singing? Have you attended to the instructions of your music master? I doubt it. I'll vow you've often driven the poor man half frantic with your airs and graces and teasing and that he hasn't had the heart to chide you." "Oh, indeed he has," cried Lavinia, pouting, "though really I haven't given him cause and yet he was tiresome enough." "I dare say. But you must let me hear. I want to be sure the good duchess hasn't thrown her money away. My friends, too, are curious to have a taste of your quality. I've told them much about thee. You mustn't put discredit upon me." "No sir, I wouldn't be so ungrateful. What would you have me do?" "I want to hear one of your old ballads such as showered pennies and shillings in your pocket when I've heard you sing in Clare Market and St. Giles High Street. But first let us go back to Mr. Pope and the others."