"Lavinia of course, but to me always Polly. Gentlemen, this is Miss Lavinia Fenton, the nightingale I once told you of."
"Aye," rejoined Pope, "I remember. She was flying wild in the fragrant groves of St. Giles and you limed her. Good. Now that she's here she must give us a sample of her powers. I pray that your nightingale, Mr. Gay, be not really a guinea fowl. Your good nature might easily make you imagine one to be the other."
"I protest. You are thinking of yourself. I'll swear you cannot tell the difference. You put all the music you have into your verse. I doubt if you could even whistle 'Lillibulero,' though there's not a snub nosed urchin in his Majesty's kingdom who can't bawl it."
"That may be, but I can neither whistle nor am I a snub-nosed urchin. I apologise for my defects," retorted the poet.
A general laugh followed at this and Gay, somewhat discomfited, turned to Lavinia.
"Now, Polly, what has brought you here, child? But looking at you I doubt if I ought to call you child. 'Tis months since I saw thee and I vow in that time you've become a young woman."
"I'm very sorry, sir. I could not help it," said Lavinia meekly.
"Help it! Faith, no! 'Tis very meritorious of you. But tell me. Has the admirable Miss Pinwell granted you a holiday, or is it your birthday and you've come for a present, or what?"
"Neither the one nor the other, sir. I—I rather think I've left school."
"Left school! And without apprising me who am, you know, in a way sponsor for you? But may be you've written the duchess?"