Lavinia played the part as if she felt it, which was indeed the fact, for she was thinking of Lancelot Vane all the time. When she came to her final words in the fifth act—
"If any of my family have done thee injury,
I'll be revenged and love thee better for it"
the house thundered its applause, so naturally and with such genuine pathos were they delivered.
The curtain fell. The gallants who had seats on the stage crowded round the "young gentlewoman" and showered compliments. A few privileged people from the front of the house who found their way behind were equally enthusiastic. Even Mrs. Haughton—the Monimia of the play—deigned to smile approvingly.
"What did I tell thee, Polly?" she heard a pleasant if somewhat husky voice whisper in her ear.
She knew the tones and turned quickly. John Gay's kindly eyes were beaming upon her. He had come with Jemmy Spiller, and with a stout man from whose broad red face a look of drollery was rarely absent. This was Hippisley, a comedian with a natural humour which was wont to set an audience in a roar.
Lavinia blushed with pleasure and cast a grateful look at Spiller, whose hints had proved so valuable.
"Was I not right, Spiller?" went on Gay. "You've read my opera, what there is of it that's finished. Won't Polly Peachum fit her like a glove?"
"Aye, if she can sing as prettily as she acted to-night," said Spiller, with a quizzical glance at the girl.