"Why not? You know it as well as I do—may be better."
"Indeed, I don't. Forgive me if I've allowed myself to think that I was of some interest to you. Of course I was foolish to have such fancies. Still, you've been so kind.... I hardly like to ask you if you have seen Mr. Gay ... and ... and ... my tragedy...."
Vane could not conceal his agitation. Lavinia took pity on him and her manner softened in that subtle inexplicable way which women have.
"Yes, I've seen him and I gave him your play."
"Ah, I can never thank you sufficiently. And what did he say?"
"He put the play in his pocket and promised to read it. He could not do any more, could he?" Lavinia quickly added seeing disappointment written in the young dramatist's face.
"No, indeed. But did he give hopes that he would speak to Mr. Rich at the Duke's Theatre or to Mr. Cibber at Drury Lane?"
"I don't think he did. I can't remember. He told me he was himself writing a play—an opera—but he was not sanguine he should get it performed."
"An opera? It is a waste of time. Operas are written by foreigners and the music and the singers are foreign too. What do the English care about operas written in their own tongue? It's not wonderful that Mr. Gay should be doubtful. Now a tragedy is a different thing. That's something everybody understands!"
"Do they? I fear then I'm very stupid. I saw a tragedy once and I'm not sure I knew what it was about. The people on the stage made such long speeches to each other they tired me to death. But I'm sure yours would not be like that."