When she came to her
final words in the fifth act--
"If any of my family have done thee injury,
I'll be revenged and love thee better for it"
the house thundered its applause, so naturally and with such genuine
pathos were they delivered.
The curtain fell. The gallants who had seats on the stage crowded round
the "young gentlewoman" and showered compliments. A few privileged
people from the front of the house who found their way behind were
equally enthusiastic. Even Mrs. Haughton--the Monimia of the
play--deigned to smile approvingly.
"What did I tell thee, Polly?" she heard a pleasant if somewhat husky
voice whisper in her ear.
She knew the tones and turned quickly. John Gay's kindly eyes were
beaming upon her. He had come with Jemmy Spiller, and with a stout man
from whose broad red face a look of drollery was rarely absent. This was
Hippisley, a comedian with a natural humour which was wont to set an
audience in a roar.
Lavinia blushed with pleasure and cast a grateful look at Spiller, whose
hints had proved so valuable.
"Was I not right, Spiller?" went on Gay. "You've read my opera, what
there is of it that's finished. Won't Polly Peachum fit her like a
glove?"
"Aye, if she can sing as prettily as she acted to-night," said Spiller,
with a quizzical glance at the girl.
"Sing? My lad, she has the voice of a nightingale. Pepusch agrees with
me.
Pages:
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225