"Oh, indeed he has," cried Lavinia, pouting, "though really I haven't given him cause and yet he was tiresome enough."
"I dare say. But you must let me hear. I want to be sure the good duchess hasn't thrown her money away. My friends, too, are curious to have a taste of your quality. I've told them much about thee. You mustn't put discredit upon me."
"No sir, I wouldn't be so ungrateful. What would you have me do?"
"I want to hear one of your old ballads such as showered pennies and shillings in your pocket when I've heard you sing in Clare Market and St. Giles High Street. But first let us go back to Mr. Pope and the others."
Lavinia looked a little frightened at the idea of singing before musical judges who doubtless were accustomed to listen to the great singers at the King's Theatre—Signor Senesino, Signor Farinalli, Signora Cuzzoni, Signora Faustina, and may be the accomplished English singer Anastasia Robinson, albeit she rarely sang in the theatre but mainly in the houses of her father's noble friends among whom was the Earl of Peterborough, her future husband.
Perhaps Gay saw her trepidation, for, said he laughingly:
"You needn't fear Mr. Pope. He hasn't the least idea what a tune is and won't know whether you sing well or ill. Dr. Arbuthnot sitting next him is the kindliest soul in the world, and will make excuses for you if you squawl as vilely as a cat on the tiles. As for Dr. Pepusch—ah, that's a different matter. Pepusch is an ugly man and you must do your best to lessen his ugliness. He's all in all to Mr. Rich when Rich condescends to let the fiddles and the flutes give the audience a little music. If you capture Pepusch you may help me."
"Oh, I'd do that gladly Mr. Gay. Tell me how," cried Lavinia eagerly.
"Softly—softly, 'tis all in the clouds at present. Pepusch must hear you sing. Then—but I dare not say more."
Lavinia surveyed the hard face and the double chin of the musical director disapprovingly.