"Well, your mother does," returned Hannah with an odd kind of laugh.
"Whatever for?"
"I'll let you have the story d'rectly, but you tell me your tale first."
By this time they were in the shop and Hannah caught sight of Lavinia's white, drawn face and her tear-swollen eyes.
"You poor baby. What's your fresh troubles?"
"Nothing—that is, not much. I'm tired. I'm faint. Give me some coffee—cocoa—anything."
Faint indeed she was. At that meal with Lancelot Vane she had eaten very sparingly. She was too excited, too much absorbed and interested in seeing him so ravenous to think of herself. In addition she had gone through much fatigue.
"Coffee—cocoa—to be sure," cried the kindly Hannah, "an' a hot buttered cake besides. You shan't say a word till I've gotten them ready."
The cook had gone. There was no one in the house save Hannah. The two went into the kitchen where the fire was burning low—with the aid of the bellows Hannah soon fanned the embers into a flame and she was not happy until Lavinia had eaten and drank.
Then Lavinia told the story of her adventures, hesitatingly at first and afterwards with more confidence seeing that Hannah sympathised and did not chide or ridicule.