Jealousy, I suppose. She's burning to sing but she can't.
Sing, why she sets one's teeth on edge! It might be the sharpening of a
knife on a grindstone. She would be a play actress, and Mrs. Barry at
Drury Lane promised to help her, but they quarrelled. Sally wanted to be
a great actress all at once, but you can't be, can you, sir?"
She looked at the poet earnestly. Her large grey eyes were wonderfully
expressive, and Gay did not at once answer. He was thinking how sweet
was the face, and how musical and appealing the voice.
"True, child, and that you should say it shows your good sense. Wait
here a few minutes and then you shall take me to your mother."
Gay crossed the room to his friends, and they talked together in low
voices. Spiller and Leveridge had much to say--indeed it was to these
two, who had practical knowledge of the theatre, to whom he appealed.
Bolingbroke sat silently listening.
Gay's project concerning his new found protegee was such as would only
have entered into the brain of a dreamy and impecunious poet. He saw in
Lavinia Fenton the making of a fine actress--not in tragedy but in
comedy--and of an enchanting singer. But to be proficient she must be
taught not only music, but how to pronounce the English language
properly. She had to a certain extent picked up the accent of the
vulgar. It was impossible, considering her surroundings and
associations, to be otherwise.
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