Lavinia looked a little frightened at the idea of singing before musical judges who doubtless were accustomed to listen to the great singers at the King's Theatre--Signor Senesino, Signor Farinalli, Signora Cuzzoni, Signora Faustina, and may be the accomplished English singer Anastasia Robinson, albeit she rarely sang in the theatre but mainly in the houses of her father's noble friends among whom was the Earl of Peterborough, her future husband. Perhaps Gay saw her trepidation, for, said he laughingly: "You needn't fear Mr. Pope. He hasn't the least idea what a tune is and won't know whether you sing well or ill. Dr. Arbuthnot sitting next him is the kindliest soul in the world, and will make excuses for you if you squawl as vilely as a cat on the tiles. As for Dr. Pepusch--ah, that's a different matter. Pepusch is an ugly man and you must do your best to lessen his ugliness. He's all in all to Mr. Rich when Rich condescends to let the fiddles and the flutes give the audience a little music. If you capture Pepusch you may help me." "Oh, I'd do that gladly Mr. Gay. Tell me how," cried Lavinia eagerly. "Softly--softly, 'tis all in the clouds at present. Pepusch must hear you sing. Then--but I dare not say more." Lavinia surveyed the hard face and the double chin of the musical director disapprovingly. "I don't take to him," said she. "Is he an Englishman?" "No--he comes from Germany. Like King George and Queen Caroline." Lavinia frowned. "Some of the people in St. Giles I've heard call the Royal Family Hanoverian rats," she exclaimed indignantly, "and those German women who pocketted everything they could lay their hands upon--the 'Maypole' and the 'Elephant,' the one because she's so lean and the other because she's so fat--they're rats too. Fancy the King making them into an English duchess and countess. 'Tis monstrous. Why----" "Hush--hush," interrupted Gay with mock solemnity and placing his finger on her lips. "You're talking treason within earshot of the 'Maypole,' otherwise her Grace the Duchess of Kendal. Don't you know that she is a neighbour of Mr. Pope? Kendal House on the road to Isleworth is but an easy walk from here." "Then I'm sorry for Mr. Pope. I hate the Germans." "Oh, then you're a Jacobite and a rebel. If you would retain your pretty head on your shoulders keep your treason to yourself," laughed Gay. "But I confess I like the Germans no more than you do. Yet there are exceptions. Pepusch has made his home here--his country turned him out--and there's clever Mr. Handel. The English know more about his music than do his countrymen. I would love to see you, Polly, applauded in the Duke's Theatre as heartily as was Mr. Handel's opera 'Rinaldo' at the King's." Something significant in Gay's voice and face sent the blood rushing to Lavinia's cheeks. "I applauded!--I at the Duke's! Oh, that will never be."