"What! Marry me?"
"Marry you! Tilly vally, no such thing. He'd spend money on you—fine dresses, trinkets, fallals and all that, but a wedding ring, the parson—not a bit of it. An' when he tired of you he'd fling you away like an old glove."
"Would he?" cried Lavinia indignantly. "Then he won't."
"No, but it means a tussle with your mother. What a tantrum she went in to be sure when she found you was gone. She fell upon poor me an' called me all the foul names she could lay her tongue to. Look at these."
Hannah pushed back her cap and her hair and showed four angry red streaks down the side of her face. Mrs. Fenton had long nails and knew how to use them.
Lavinia was horrified. Throwing her arms round the honest creature's neck she kissed her again and again. Then she exclaimed despairingly:—
"What am I do to do to-night? I dursn't stay here."
"I'm not so sure about that. I'm thinking it can be managed. Your mother's gone to Marybone Gardens with Dawson, the Romford cattle dealer. They won't be home till latish an' I'll go bail as full o' strong waters as they can carry. It's not market day to-morrow and your mother'll lie in bed till noon. You can share my bed an' I'll let 'ee out long afore the mistress wakes."
"Oh thank you—thank you Hannah. How clever you are to think of all this."
"Not much cleverness either. Trust a woman for finding out a way when love's hanging on it."