"'Tis a play, sir, that Mr. Vane has written."
"And why did he write it? Who asked him? Who wants plays?"
"I--I don't know," Lavinia stammered dismally. She felt her ardour was
being damped. "Mr. Vane begged me to bring it to you, sir, and I
couldn't refuse, could I? It was this way. I told him you were my
friend--and you are, aren't you?--and he was overjoyed."
"Overjoyed? What in the name of Heaven about?"
"Mr. Vane thought that if I took the play to you and asked you to read
it you would be sure to say you would."
"Mr. Vane had no business to think anything of the kind. Doesn't he know
that nothing in this world can be taken for granted? I've committed the
folly myself too often not to know that placing faith in other people is
vanity and vexation."
"Yes, sir. But you'll read Mr. Vane's play all the same, won't you?"
"What a wheedling baggage it is," muttered Gay.
And he held the parcel and resisted the impulse to give it back to
Lavinia and to tell her that he had neither time nor inclination to read
other men's plays. His own play was sufficient for him at that moment.
CHAPTER XIII
"I'M FIXED ON POLLY PEACHUM"
Lavinia saw she had nearly conquered and cried:--"Let me untie the knot.
I was sure you would not say no."
Gay was like wax in her hands. He permitted her to snatch the parcel and
attack the knot. Between her deft fingers and pearly teeth she had the
string off and the parcel open in a trice.
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