The motive and the
plot and the many songs made up a play which was to them quite novel,
and they were somewhat bewildered to know what to do with it. Gay
hovered about unable to decide whether his opera was going to be a
thumping success or a dismal failure. The general impression was in the
direction of the latter, but no one save Quin gave vent to his or her
sentiments.
"Well, what d'ye think, Mr. Quin?" asked Gay anxiously when the
rehearsal was over.
Quin refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff before he answered.
"Humph--can't say--can't say. It'll be a riddle to the audience. Bad
thing to puzzle 'em, eh?"
"Surely it's plain enough. But if it's amusing, what else matters?"
"I won't put my opinion against yours, Mr. Gay and Mr. Pope's, but----"
Quin shrugged his shoulders and stalked away, and Lavinia, who was
watching the two from a distance, ran across the stage, her face a
little troubled. She had interpreted Quin's gesture correctly.
"Oh, Mr. Gay----" she stopped. Gay was looking so sad.
"Mr. Quin doesn't like the opera, Polly. What do you say?"
"Mr. Quin doesn't like it because he can't act the part," cried Lavinia
indignantly. "None of us like him in it any more than he does himself.
He's not my idea of a highwayman."
"Why, what do you know about highwaymen? But I forgot, of course. Wasn't
the coach that brought you to London from Mr.
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