"Of course, I knew there was a man at the bottom of the business. And a marriage too. Hoity toity, that's another pair of shoes."
She threw back a fold of the cloak, and scrutinised Lavinia's left hand.
"No wedding ring!" she gasped. "I might ha' guessed as much. Oh, the little fool! Why, she's worse than I was. I wasn't to be taken in by soft whispers and kisses—well—well—well!"
The lady bumped herself into the nearest chair, breathed heavily and smoothed her apron distractedly. Then she looked at the letter again. Her glance went to the top of the sheet.
"So, no address. That looks bad. Who's Archibald Dorrimore? May be that isn't his right name. He's some worthless spark who's got hold of her for his own amusement. Oh, the silly hussy! What could that prim Mistress Pinwell have been about? A fine boarding school indeed! She can't go back. But I won't have her here turning the heads of the men. That dull lout, Bob Dobson, 'ud as lieve throw his money into her lap as he'd swallow a mug of ale. What'll her fine friends do for her now? Nothing. She's ruined herself. Well, I won't have her ruin me."
Mrs. Fenton worked her fury to such a height that she could no longer contain herself, and seizing her daughter's shoulder she shook her violently. The girl's tired eyelids slowly lifted and she looked vaguely into the angry face bending over her.
"Tell me what all this means, you jade. What have you been up to? How is it you're in such a state? Who's been making a fool of you? Who's this Dorrimore? Are you married to him or not?"
The good lady might have spared herself the trouble of pouring out this torrent of questions. The last was really the only one that mattered.
"Married? No, I'm not," said Lavinia drowsily. "Don't bother me, mother. Let me sleep. I'll tell you everything, but not—not now. I'm too tired."
"Tell me everything? I should think you will or I'll know the reason why. And it'll have to be the truth or I'll beat it out of you. Get up."