Lavinia sang for the last time at Hampstead and quitted the Great Room not without regrets and doubts. Would she be as successful at the Duke's Theatre? Would she have her chance? She well knew the rivalries a rising actress would have to encounter. But what disturbed her most was that Gay's enthusiasm over his opera did not seem so keen as it had been. She dared not ask him the cause of his depression. She could only watch his varying moods and hope the melancholy ones would pass.
Hitherto Betty had always been waiting for her to accompany her across the heath, but this last night she was not in her usual place at the door. Lavinia was not surprised as Betty had a bad cold. She hurried out, anxious to get home. Some one a yard or so from the entrance shrank into the darkness as she passed out but not so rapidly that he was not noticed and recognised.
Lavinia was full of generous impulses that evening. Everything had gone so well with her, and the future in spite of her doubts was so bright.
"Mr. Vane," she cried and moved a step towards him. "Do I frighten you that you don't want to see me?"
"No," she heard him say, but it was with difficulty for his voice was so low. "I'm not frightened but I'm afraid of what you might say or think."
"You don't give me a chance of the one or the other," she retorted. "You don't keep your own appointments. 'Tis a bad habit of forgetfulness with women, it's worse with men."
"You're right, but in my case 'tis not forgetfulness. I've seen you every time you've sung. I've not missed once."
"And you've never acknowledged my presence! Thank you."
"I was at fault there, I suppose. I kept my happiness to myself. I ought to have thanked you for the joy of seeing and hearing you but I was doubtful whether I should not be intruding."
"It would have been no intrusion," rejoined Lavinia her tone softening.