The girl's carriage and walk were indeed natural and there was something in both which was familiar to him.

But he could not fix them.

He would have to wait until the sheltering hood was raised and the face revealed.
This came about when Lavinia was a couple of yards or so from the man.
Gay bent forward and rose slightly from his chair.

An expression half startled, half puzzled stole over his face.
"Gad! Polly--or am I dreaming ?" "Lavinia sir," came the demure answer accompanied by a drooping of the long lashes and a low curtsey.
"Lavinia of course, but to me always Polly.

Gentlemen, this is Miss Lavinia Fenton, the nightingale I once told you of." "Aye," rejoined Pope, "I remember.