in so doing he was by no means sure.

On leaving the coffee house Gay walked towards Charing Cross and thence
along the Haymarket to Piccadilly. His destination was Queensberry House
to the north of Burlington Gardens. Here lived Gay's good friends the
Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, and indeed Gay himself, save when he
was at Twickenham with Pope.

At dinner that evening Gay broached the subject of the phenomenal singer
whom he had discovered in the streets of St. Giles and his scheme
concerning her. The duke laughed at the poet's visions, but the duchess
was fascinated. Anything of the unusual at once appealed to the
warmhearted, impulsive, somewhat eccentric, lady. Her enthusiasm where
she was interested always carried her away, and her impatience and
energy would not let her rest until her object was accomplished.

"I would vastly like to hear Mr. Gay's pretty nightingale. You must
bring her to-morrow. I am dying to see if she is really the wonder you
pretend she is. You know that the best judge of a woman is another
woman. A man is apt to be partial."

"And a woman to be prejudiced," said Gay smilingly.

"Faith, Kitty," laughed the duke, "our poet has thee there."

"I deny it. But we will discuss the question after we've seen the
paragon. When shall she come?"

Gay for once was shrewd.