The butchers had removed her out of harm's way. Some of her lady friends
and sympathisers had joined her; and a couple of young "bloods" who had
come to see the fun of an execution, with money burning holes in their
pockets, being captured, the party subsided into the "Bowl" where a
bottle of wine washed away the remembrance of Sally Salisbury's
grievance. But she vowed vengeance on the "squalling chit" sooner or
later.

Meanwhile the object of Sally Salisbury's hoped for revenge was sitting
in a dark corner of the coffee room of the Maiden Head tavern. She felt
terribly embarrassed and answered Bolingbroke's compliments in
monosyllables. He pressed her to take some wine but she refused. To her
great relief he did not trouble her with attentions.

Then Gay entering with Spiller and his butcher friends, and Leveridge,
as soon as he could, approached her.

"Tell me, Polly,--my tongue refuses to say Lavinia--how you have
offended that vulgar passionate woman?"

"I don't know. Jealousy, I suppose. She's burning to sing but she can't.
Sing, why she sets one's teeth on edge! It might be the sharpening of a
knife on a grindstone. She would be a play actress, and Mrs. Barry at
Drury Lane promised to help her, but they quarrelled. Sally wanted to be
a great actress all at once, but you can't be, can you, sir?"

She looked at the poet earnestly. Her large grey eyes were wonderfully
expressive, and Gay did not at once answer. He was thinking how sweet
was the face, and how musical and appealing the voice.