the gruesome thought.
Finally she subsided into dull resignation and strove to think no more
about him.

It was September; with the colder weather came the waning of the
Hampstead season, the fashionable folk were returning to London and
preparing for masquerades, ridottos, the theatres and the opera. The
Great Room concerts were but thinly attended and for a whole fortnight
Lavinia had not sung twice. But this did not matter to her. She had been
written to by John Rich, and he had engaged her at a little higher
salary than he had hitherto paid.

Lavinia sang for the last time at Hampstead and quitted the Great Room
not without regrets and doubts. Would she be as successful at the Duke's
Theatre? Would she have her chance? She well knew the rivalries a
rising actress would have to encounter. But what disturbed her most was
that Gay's enthusiasm over his opera did not seem so keen as it had
been. She dared not ask him the cause of his depression. She could only
watch his varying moods and hope the melancholy ones would pass.

Hitherto Betty had always been waiting for her to accompany her across
the heath, but this last night she was not in her usual place at the
door. Lavinia was not surprised as Betty had a bad cold. She hurried
out, anxious to get home. Some one a yard or so from the entrance shrank
into the darkness as she passed out but not so rapidly that he was not
noticed and recognised.

Lavinia was full of generous impulses that evening. Everything had gone
so well with her, and the future in spite of her doubts was so bright.

"Mr. Vane," she cried and moved a step towards him. "Do I frighten you
that you don't want to see me?"

"No," she heard him say, but it was with difficulty for his voice was so
low. "I'm not frightened but I'm afraid of what you might say or think."

"You don't give me a chance of the one or the other," she retorted. "You
don't keep your own appointments. 'Tis a bad habit of forgetfulness with
women, it's worse with men."

"You're right, but in my case 'tis not forgetfulness. I've seen you
every time you've sung. I've not missed once."

"And you've never acknowledged my presence! Thank you."

"I was at fault there, I suppose. I kept my happiness to myself. I ought
to have thanked you for the joy of seeing and hearing you but I was
doubtful whether I should not be intruding."

"It would have been no intrusion," rejoined Lavinia her tone softening.

"Then I hope my admiratio