How could she justify her conduct to Mr. Gay! Would he not look upon her
as a light o' love ready to bestow smiles upon any man who flattered
her? Well, she wouldn't attempt to justify herself. Mr. Gay was a poet.
He would understand. But the terrible duchess--Kitty of Queensberry who
feared nothing and in the plainest of terms, if she was so minded,
expressed her opinion on everything! Lavinia quaked in her shoes at the
thought of meeting the high-born uncompromising dame.
"But I've promised the poor fellow. I _must_ keep my word. I don't care
a bit about myself if I can do that," she murmured.
Lavinia had a sudden heartening, and lest the feeling should slacken she
seized the heavy bell-pull and gave it a violent tug.
The door was opened almost immediately by a fat hall porter who scowled
when he saw a girl instead of the footman of a fine lady in her chair.
"What d'ye want? A-ringing the bell like that one would think you was my
Lord Mayor."
"I'm neither the Lord Mayor nor the Lady Mayoress, as your own eyes
ought to tell you. I wish to see Mr. Gay."
"Well, you can't," said the porter gruffly. "He's not here. He's staying
with Mr. Pope at Twitnam."
"Twitnam? Where is Twitnam?"
"Up the river."
"How far? Can I walk there?"
"May be, but you hadn't better go on foot. It's a goodish step--ten or a
dozen miles. You might go by waggon, there isn't no other way save toe
and heel.
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