If you would retain your pretty
head on your shoulders keep your treason to yourself," laughed Gay. "But
I confess I like the Germans no more than you do. Yet there are
exceptions. Pepusch has made his home here--his country turned him
out--and there's clever Mr. Handel. The English know more about his
music than do his countrymen. I would love to see you, Polly, applauded
in the Duke's Theatre as heartily as was Mr. Handel's opera 'Rinaldo' at
the King's."
Something significant in Gay's voice and face sent the blood rushing to
Lavinia's cheeks.
"I applauded!--I at the Duke's! Oh, that will never be."
"May be not--may be not. But one never knows. A pretty face--a pretty
voice--an air--faith, such gifts may work wonders. But let us keep Mr.
Pope waiting no longer."
They approached the table beneath the cedar tree.
"Sir," said Gay with a bow to Pope, "I've prevailed upon my young madam
here to give us a taste of her quality. I trust your twittering birds
won't be provoked to rivalry. Happily their season of song is past."
"I warn you Mr. Gay, the age of miracles is _not_ past. What if the work
you're toiling at sends the present taste of the town into a
summersault? Would not that be a miracle?"
"You think then that my 'Beggar's Opera' won't do," broke in Gay, his
face losing a little of its colour.
"You know my views. It is something unlike anything ever written
before--a leap in the dark.
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