There was a meaning in the contact which emphasised the doctor's words. Self indulgence was Gay's failing as all his friends knew.
"Well—well," rejoined Gay somewhat embarrassed. "Be it so, I—conduct the girl hither—have I your permission, Mr. Pope?"
"With all my heart—provided she's worth looking at."
"I know nothing of her looks. Quick, Stephen, your master and these gentlemen are impatient."
The man hastened away to the house and presently was seen crossing the lawn with Lavinia by his side.
"'Faith, you've good taste, Mr. Gay," said Arbuthnot with a chuckle. "A trim built wench, upon my word. And she knows how to walk. She hasn't the mincing gait of the city madams of the Exchange nor the flaunting strut of the dames of the Mall or the Piazza."
Gay made no reply. The girl's carriage and walk were indeed natural and there was something in both which was familiar to him. But he could not fix them. He would have to wait until the sheltering hood was raised and the face revealed.
This came about when Lavinia was a couple of yards or so from the man. Gay bent forward and rose slightly from his chair. An expression half startled, half puzzled stole over his face.
"Gad! Polly—or am I dreaming?"
"Lavinia sir," came the demure answer accompanied by a drooping of the long lashes and a low curtsey.