"Well, what d'ye think, Mr. Quin?" asked Gay anxiously when the rehearsal was over.
Quin refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff before he answered.
"Humph—can't say—can't say. It'll be a riddle to the audience. Bad thing to puzzle 'em, eh?"
"Surely it's plain enough. But if it's amusing, what else matters?"
"I won't put my opinion against yours, Mr. Gay and Mr. Pope's, but——"
Quin shrugged his shoulders and stalked away, and Lavinia, who was watching the two from a distance, ran across the stage, her face a little troubled. She had interpreted Quin's gesture correctly.
"Oh, Mr. Gay——" she stopped. Gay was looking so sad.
"Mr. Quin doesn't like the opera, Polly. What do you say?"
"Mr. Quin doesn't like it because he can't act the part," cried Lavinia indignantly. "None of us like him in it any more than he does himself. He's not my idea of a highwayman."
"Why, what do you know about highwaymen? But I forgot, of course. Wasn't the coach that brought you to London from Mr. Pope's villa stopped by one?"