harm in keeping her appointment instead of going to Hampstead? No harm
at all save that she would be behaving ungratefully to Hannah. But
Hannah would understand. Hannah was never without a sweetheart of a
sort.

A sweetheart? That was the important point for Lavinia. Was Lancelot her
sweetheart? She wondered. She blushed at the idea. It agitated her. She
had not felt agitated when she ran away with Dorrimore--just a pleasant
thrill of excitement, a sense of adventure; that was all. Dorrimore had
made downright love to her; he had called her all the pet names in
fashion. His admiration flattered and amused her, nothing more. Vane
hadn't made love--at least it didn't seem to her that he had. But there
are so many ways of making love!

"Hampstead's miles away," she mused. "If I go there we shall hardly ever
see each other. At all events I ought to tell him where I shall be
living. It won't be a surprise. He thinks I'm a fine lady and it's the
fashion for fine ladies to go to Hampstead at this time of the year. It
might make him jealous though," she added thoughtfully, "if he knows of
the lovemaking by moonlight Hannah talked about."

She could decide upon nothing, and rather than loiter in Holborn while
trying to solve the problem she entered Great Turnstile passage and
presently was in the quietude of Lincoln's Inn Fields. At night she
would not have ventured to cross this big open space haunted as it was
after dark by footpads and pickpockets, but at that early hour of the
morning there was nothing to fear. Only a few people were about and in
the enclosure railed off from the roadway by posts was a horse being
broken in. The theatre was a link between her and Lancelot Vane and
thinking of him she walked towards it.

The Fields were crossed by two roads running diagonally from opposite
corners and intersecting each other at the centre. Lavinia took the road
which led to the southwestern angle. Close by this angle was the Duke's
Theatre.

Lavinia reached the plain unpretending structure which looked at from
the outside might be mistaken for a warehouse, and she gazed at its
blank front wondering if fate meant to be kind and give her the chance
her soul longed for. But in spite of Mr. Gay's encouraging hints it
seemed impossible that she would ever sing within its walls.

She turned away sorrowfully and came cheek by jowl with a slenderly
built thin-faced man whose eyes twinkled humorously, and with mobile
lips that