Lavinia laughed too.
"Aye, you haven't lost the trick of sending a look that goes straight as
an arrow to a man's heart. Tell me, was it not you that Mr. Gay took
under his wing? At the 'Maiden Head,' wasn't it?"
"Yes. I've much to thank Mr. Gay for and you as well, Mr. Spiller. You
and your friends from the market saved me from a clawed face."
"Why to be sure. That fury Sal Salisbury had her spurs on. She'd have
half killed you but for us coming to the spot at the right time. But,
child, what have you been doing? Hang me if you haven't sprung into a
woman in a few months."
It was true. When Spiller last saw her she was hardly better than a waif
and stray. She was thin and bony, her growth impeded by insufficient
food, irregular hours and not a little ill usage. At Miss Pinwell's she
had lived well, she was happy, she had had love illusions and Nature had
asserted its sway.
Lavinia coloured with pleasure. To be complimented by Spiller, the idol
of the public--an actor--and she adored actors--was like the
condescension of a god. She dropped him a low curtsey.
"Oh, and you're in the fashion too. How long have you been a fine lady?"
Spiller's voice and manner had become slightly serious. Lavinia was too
familiar with London life not to understand the inference.
"I owe it all to Mr. Gay," she answered quickly. "He is the kindest
hearted man in the world.
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