y rate,
there was no magic about it. It was a very ordinary thing--no
romance--and certainly no love. So at least she argued and ended by
thinking she had convinced herself.

In London Lavinia went back to her old lodgings in Little Queen Street,
and revived her acquaintance with Mrs. Egleton. The latter received her
with much effusion, which puzzled Lavinia not a little. The cause,
however, was revealed when the lady explained how she had heard from
John Rich that when "The Beggar's Opera" was put into rehearsal he was
going to give her the part of Lucy.

"And you, my dear, are to play Polly."

"So Mr. Gay says, but I don't know for certain."

"Have you read the play?"

"No, I've only learned my songs."

"And the duet with me?"--"I'm bubbled."

"No. I know nothing about that."

"It's terribly hard, but there's plenty of time to get it by heart. I'm
dreadfully nervous though. We have to sing it without any instruments,
not even a harpsichord. All the songs are to be like that."

"Oh.... Won't it all sound very poor?"

"Of course it will. You see that mean hunks Rich won't go to the expense
of a band. He doesn't know how the opera will take the people. It may be
hissed off the stage the first night. I don't trouble my head about
politics--I can't say I know what the rubbish means--but I'm told
there's a good deal in the opera that's likely to give offence."

"I can't think Mr. Gay would write anything likely to offend anybody."

"Can't you? Well, if the Church can easily give offence, much more
likely a playwriter. Why, wasn't the Bishop of Rochester sent to the
Tower for what he said, and isn't he at this very moment in Paris and
afraid to show his nose in England? Oh, you can't call your soul your
own now-a-days. We poor playfolk may bless our lucky stars that we've
only got to say the words set down for us and not our own. Mr. Gay who
writes 'em for us'll have the worry and he's got it too, what with
Rich's scraping and saving and his insisting upon Mr. Quin playing in
the opera."

Lavinia now saw why Gay had been depressed. But Mr. Quin the surly, who
only played in tragedies, what had he to do with Gay's opera? She put
the question to Mrs. Egleton.

"Nothing at all. He hasn't any more idea of singing than an old crow.
It's ridiculous, but Rich will have his way. I tell you flatly, Lavinia,
if Quin plays the part of Captain Macheath he'll be laughed at and so
shall we, and the piece will be damned."