You see, sir, I--oh well, I suppose I
must confess I ran away--I meant to return and nobody would have been
the wiser--but things happened that I didn't expect and--and oh, I do
hope you'll forgive me."
Lavinia's pleading voice quivered. Her eyes were fixed imploringly on
Gay. Tears were glistening in them, the pose of her figure suggested a
delightful penitence. The susceptible poet felt his emotions stirred.
"Forgive you? But you haven't told me what I am to forgive. You ran
away from school you say. What made you? Had you quarrelled with
anyone?"
"Oh no--not then--the quarrel was after I left the school."
"After--hang me if I understand. Whom did you quarrel with?"
"The--the person I--I ran away with."
Lavinia's confession was uttered in the softest of whispers. It was
inaudible to anyone save Gay. Her face had suddenly become scarlet.
"The per--oh, there's a mystery here. Mr. Pope--gentlemen," Gay went on
turning to the others, "will you excuse me if I draw apart with our
young madam. She has propounded to me an enigma which must be solved."
"And if you fail--as you will if the enigma is a woman's--call us to
thine aid," said Arbuthnot laughingly.
Gay shook his head and he and Lavinia paced the lawn.
"It's no use asking you to tell me everything, Polly, because you can't
do it. Your sex never do. You're like spendthrifts who are asked to
disclose all their debts.
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