hearsal, the sense of independence she felt when
all was got through with credit, lent her buoyancy, but it did not last.
The dream she had once had of playing to an audience and seeing only
Lancelot Vane in the first row of the pit applauding and eager to
congratulate her, was gone. She was done with him for ever. So she told
herself. And to strengthen this resolve she recalled his weaknesses, his
vacillation, his distrust in himself, his lapses into inebriety. Yet no
sooner had she gone over his sins than she felt pity and inclined to
forgiveness. But not forgiveness for his faithlessness. That was
unpardonable.

Mrs. Egleton, her fellow lodger, had the night before gone to bed sober
and was inclined to be complaisant and to interest herself in Lavinia.
She was pleased to hear that Huddy had praised her.

"If he asks you to join his company, don't you refuse," said Mrs.
Egleton. "He's got a rough tongue when he's put out, but he knows his
business. Three months' experience will do wonders. I must come and see
you on _the_ night. When is it to be?"

Lavinia said she hadn't the least idea.

"Oh, well, you'll soon know."

Mrs. Egleton was right. In the next issue of the _Daily Post_ appeared
this advertisement:--

"At the desire of several persons of quality for the benefit of Mr.
Huddy, at the New Theatre in the Haymarket. To-morrow being
Thursday, the 24th day of February, will be presented a tragedy
called 'The Orphan; or, the Unhappy Marriage,' written by the late
Mr. Otway, with a new prologue to be spoken by Mr. Roger, who plays
the part of Chamont. The part of Acasto by Mr. Huddy; Monimia, Mrs.
Haughton; the page, Miss Tollet; and the part of Serina by a
gentlewoman who never appear'd on any stage before. With singing in
Italian and English by Mrs. Fitzgerald. And the original trumpet
song of sound fame, as set to musick by Mr. Henry Purcel, to be
performed by Mr. Amesbury."

Lavinia read this over twice and thrilled with delight. She ran with the
paper to Mrs. Egleton.

"Mercy on me, child!" cried the actress. "So you're a gentlewoman, are
you?"

"The paper says I am, so I suppose it's true," said Lavinia, casting
down her eyes demurely.

"If you are, it'll be a wonder. Not many women players are, I may tell
you for your satisfaction. Who was your father?"

"I don't know. I can't remember him."

"Well, you're in the fashion there. Few of u