he cause of the escapade on
London Bridge. How came she to be alone with a gallant in his carriage
at that time of night? But he dared not put any questions to her. Her
love affairs were nothing to him--so he tried to persuade himself.

He was now busy in tying up the manuscript in a sheet of paper and
Lavinia was thinking hard.

The question was, what was to become of her? She had no home, for she
had made up her mind she would not go back to her mother and Miss
Pinwell was equally impossible. This impeccable spinster would never
condone such an offence as that of which she had been guilty. Neither
did Lavinia wish the compromising affair to be known in the school and
talked about. She felt she had left conventional schooling for ever and
she yearned to go back to life--but not the same life in which her early
years had been passed.

Another worry was her shortness of money. She had but a trifle left out
of the guinea her brooch had fetched. In the old days she could have
soon earned a shilling or two by singing outside and inside taverns. But
what she had done as a beggar maid could not be thought of in her fine
clothes. And during the last six months, with good food, regular hours
and systematic drilling, she had shot up half a head. She was a grown
woman, and she felt instinctively that as such and with the winsome face
Nature had bestowed upon her, singing outside taverns would be
considered by men as a blind for something else. In addition she looked
back upon her former occupation with loathing. It could not be denied
that she was in an awkward plight.

She was so absorbed that she did not hear Vane who finished tieing up
the packet speaking to her. Suddenly she became aware of his voice and
she turned to him in some confusion.

"I beg your pardon. You were saying----"

"Pardon my presumption, I was asking whether I might have the privilege
of knowing your name."

"Oh yes. Lavinia Fenton. But that's all I can tell you. You mustn't ask
where I live."

"I'm not curious. I'm quite contented with what you choose to let me
know."

"And with that little are you quite sure you'll trust me with your play?
Suppose I lose it or am robbed?"

"I must take my chance. I've a rough draft of the whole and also all the
parts written out separately. I wouldn't think of doubting you. But do
you know where to find Mr. Gay?"

"Oh yes. He lives at the house of his friend, Her Grace the Duchess of
Queensberry."

"That