ressed, whose apron bore traces of
miscellaneous kitchen work, scowled when her eyes lighted on her
daughter.

"So you've come home, you lazy good-for-nothing hussy," she screamed.
"Where have you been? You don't care how hard I have to work so long as
you can go a pleasuring. There's plenty for you to do here. Set about
washing these plates if you don't want a trouncing."

Mrs. Fenton was in a vile temper and Gay's heart somewhat failed at the
sight of her. Then he glanced at the girl and her frightened face gave
him courage.

"Madame," said he advancing with a polite bow, "I should like with your
permission to have a few words with you in private. My business here
concerns your daughter in whom I take an interest."

"Oh, and who may you be?" asked the woman ungraciously.

"My name is Gay--John Gay--but I'll tell you more when we're alone."

He cast a look around at the rough Covent Garden porters with which the
place was fairly full. One of the boxes was empty and Mrs. Fenton
pointed to it, at the same time ordering her daughter to go into the
kitchen and make herself useful. Then she flopped down opposite Gay,
separated from him by a table marked by innumerable rings left by coffee
mugs.

Gay put forward his ideas and painted a glorious future for Lavinia. Her
mother did not seem particularly impressed. It was doubtful indeed if
she believed him.

"You'll find the wench a handful. She's been no good to me. I'd as lieve
let her go her own way as keep her. A young 'oman with a pretty face
hasn't got no need to trouble about getting a living. Sooner or later
she'll give me the slip--but--well--if you takes her and makes a lady of
her what do I get out of it?"

This was a view of the matter which had not occurred to the poet. He
felt decidedly embarrassed. His project appeared to be more costly than
he had at first imagined.

"It is for the benefit of your daughter," he stammered.

"Her benefit, indeed. Fiddle-de-dee! Your own you mean. I know what men
are. If she was an ugly slut you wouldn't take no notice of her. Don't
talk rubbish. What are you a going to give me for saying, yes. That's
business, mister. Come, how much?"

The poet saw there was no other way but talking business. This
embarrassed him still more for he was the last man qualified to act in
such a capacity.

"I'll see what I can do," said he nervously, "but you mustn't forget
that Lavinia will have to be quite two years at school, and th