"I don't like taking it. He gave it me to pay the waterman and I hadn't
the chance. It isn't mine. I ought to return it to him. But how can I? I
don't know where he lives. I don't even know his name."
Then she fingered the other end. She slid the ring but hesitated to do
more. To look at the paper seemed like prying into the owner's affairs.
It must be something precious for him to carry it about with him.
Suppose it was a love letter from his sweetheart? She blushed at the
idea. Then curiosity was roused. Her fingers crept towards the papers,
for there were two. One ran thus:--
"The Duke's Theatre,
"Lincoln's Inn Fields.
"SIR,--
"I have read your play and herewith return it. I doubt not it has
merit but it will not suit me.
"I am your obedient humble servant,
Lancelot Vane, Esq. "JOHN RICH."
"Poor fellow--so he writes plays. How aggravating to have such a rude
letter. 'Obedient--humble--servant,' forsooth! I hate that John Rich.
He's a bear."
Then Lavinia unfolded the second letter. It was more depressing than the
first.
"Lancelot Vane, 3, Fletcher's Court, Grub Street," Lavinia read;
"Sir,--I give you notiss that if you do nott pay me my nine weeks' rent
you owe me by twelve o'clock to-morrer I shall at wunce take possesshun
and have innstruckted the sheriff's offiser in ackordance therewith.
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