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.

"Now, Polly, what has brought you here, child? But looking at you I
doubt if I ought to call you child. 'Tis months since I saw thee and I
vow in that time you've become a young woman."

"I'm very sorry, sir. I could not help it," said Lavinia meekly.

"Help it! Faith, no! 'Tis very meritorious of you. But tell me. Has the
admirable Miss Pinwell granted you a holiday, or is it your birthday and
you've come for a present, or what?"

"Neither the one nor the other, sir. I--I rather think I've left
school."

"Left school! And without apprising me who am, you know, in a way
sponsor for you? But may be you've written the duchess?"

Lavinia shook her head and cast down her eyes.

"Left school," repeated Gay lifting his wig slightly and rubbing his
temple. "Surely--surely you haven't misbehaved and have been expelled.
Miss Pinwell I know is the perfection of prim propriety, but----"

"Quite true, sir, so she is," burst out Lavinia impetuously, "and I've
done nothing wicked--not really wicked--only silly, but I'm sure Miss
Pinwell wouldn't take me back. You see, sir, I--oh well, I suppose I
must confess I ran away--I meant to return and nobody would have been
the wiser--but things happened that I didn't expect and--and oh, I do
hope you'll forgive me."

Lavinia's pleading voice quivered. Her eyes were fixed imploringly on
Gay. Tears were glistening in them, the pose of her figure suggested a
delightful penitence. The susceptible poet felt his emotions stirred.

"Forgive you? But you haven't told me what I am to forgive. You ran
away from school you say. What made you? Had you quarrelled with
anyone?"

"Oh no--not then--the quarrel was after I left the school."

"After--hang me if I understand. Whom did you quarrel with?"