While she was recounting her adventures her mother, though listening attentively, was also pondering over the possible consequences. The story might be true or it might not, whichever it was did not matter. It was good enough for the purpose she had in her mind.
"Why didn't you go back to Miss Pinwell's?" Mrs. Fenton demanded sharply. "I see by this scrawl that it isn't the first time you've stolen out to meet this precious gallant of yours."
And Mrs. Fenton, suddenly producing the letter which she had hitherto concealed, waved it in her daughter's face. Lavinia flushed angrily and burst out:—
"You'd no right to read that letter any more than you had to steal it."
"Steal it? Tillyvalley! It's my duty to look after you and I'm going to do it. Why didn't you go back to the school as you seem to have done before?"
"Because the key of the front door was in my reticule, and that was snatched from me or it slipped from my wrist in the scuffle on the bridge."
"A pretty how de do, my young madam, upon my word. Miss Pinwell'll never take you back. Goodness knows what may happen. What'll Mr. Gay, who's been so good to you, think of your base ingratitude?"
Lavinia's eyes filled with tears. She broke down when she thought of the gentle, good-natured poet. She could only weep silently.
Mrs. Fenton saw the sign of penitence with much satisfaction and while twirling her wedding ring to assist her thoughts, suddenly said:—
"You haven't told me a word about this spark of yours. Who is he? What is he? Some draper's 'prentice, I suppose, or footman, may be out of a place for robbing his master and thinking of turning highwayman."