The Fields were crossed by two roads running diagonally from opposite
corners and intersecting each other at the centre. Lavinia took the road
which led to the southwestern angle. Close by this angle was the Duke's
Theatre.
Lavinia reached the plain unpretending structure which looked at from
the outside might be mistaken for a warehouse, and she gazed at its
blank front wondering if fate meant to be kind and give her the chance
her soul longed for. But in spite of Mr. Gay's encouraging hints it
seemed impossible that she would ever sing within its walls.
She turned away sorrowfully and came cheek by jowl with a slenderly
built thin-faced man whose eyes twinkled humorously, and with mobile
lips that somehow suggested comicality. He stopped and stared;
apparently trying to recall some remembrance of her. She recognised him
at once. He was Jemmy Spiller the most popular comedian of the day.
Everybody who had any acquaintance with Clare Market knew Jem Spiller.
So much so that a tavern there was called after him.
"Faith, young madam, I've seen you before," said he. "Where, pray, was
it?"
"I've sung inside the 'Spiller's Head' more than once a year and more
ago," returned Lavinia with the demure look which was so characteristic
and at the same time so engaging.
"What, are you that saucy little baggage? By the Lord, let me look at
you again."
Spiller's laughing eyes roamed over her from head to foot and his shrewd
face wrinkled into the quizzical expression which had often times sent
his audience into a roar.
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