Where does he live?"

"I shan't tell you."

"Because you're ashamed. I shouldn't wonder if he wasn't a trull's bully from Lewknor's Lane or Whetstone Park. The rascals pa.s.s themselves off as sparks of fashion at ridottos, masquerades and what not and live by robbery and blood money. I warrant I'll soon run your fine gentleman to earth. He talks about telling his father. Pooh! That was but to bait the trap and you walked into it nicely."

Her mother's insinuations maddened poor Lavinia. The mention of Lewknor's Lane and Whetstone Park, two of the most infamous places in London, was amply sufficient to break her spirit, which indeed was Mrs.

Fenton's intention. The worst of it was that after what had happened she had in her secret heart come round to the same opinion so far as the baiting of the trap was concerned. She was far too cast down to make any reply and wept copiously, purely through injured pride and humiliation.

"You must leave me to deal with this business, child," said Mrs. Fenton loftily. "If the young man really belongs to the quality and what he writes about his father is true, then his father must be made to pay for the injury his son's done you. I suppose he's told you who his father is and where he lives, and _I_ want to know too. If I'm to get you out of the mess you're in you must help me."

"I won't," gasped Lavinia between her sobs. "I don't want to hear anything more about him or his father either. I wish to forget both of them."

"Humph! That won't be so easy as you'll find, you stubborn little fool.

Keep your mouth shut if you like. I'll ferret out the truth without you."

And stuffing the letter into her capacious pocket, Mrs. Fenton stalked out of the room and directly she was outside she turned the key in the lock. Lavinia, too exhausted in body and too depressed in mind to think, sobbed herself to sleep.

CHAPTER VII

"I WISH I WERE A RICH LADY FOR YOUR SAKE"

Lavina awoke to find Hannah in the room. The maid had brought in a cup of chocolate and something to eat.

"I'm a dreadful sight, Hannah," said she dolefully.

"You'll be better when you've had a wash and done your hair. Your cloak's spoilt. What a pity! Take it off and let me brush away the mud and see if I can smooth out the creases."

Lavinia stretched herself, yawned and slowly pulled herself up, sitting on the side of the bed for a minute or two before she commenced her toilette. Hannah helped her to dress to the accompaniment of a running commentary on the state of her clothing.

"What am I to do about shoes?" asked Lavinia, when this part of her wearing apparel was reached.

"You won't be wanting any for a time I'm thinking, Miss Lavvy."

"Not wanting any shoes? Whatever do you mean?"

"Your mother means to lock you in this room for a while. She was for keeping you for a day or two on bread and water, but I talked her out of it."

Lavinia started in dismay. Then she burst out:--

"I won't endure such treatment. I won't, Hannah! You'll help me to run away, won't you?"

"Not till I know what's going to become of you."

"But if I'm a prisoner you're my gaoler and you can let me out whenever you choose."

"No I can't. I've to hand over the key to your mother."

"So you can after I'm gone."

"And what do you suppose I'm to say to her when that happens?"

"Oh, what you like, Hannah. I don't believe you're afraid of anybody.

You're so brave," said Lavinia, coaxingly.

"Well, well, we'll see. But I warn you, child, I'm not going to let you come to harm."

Lavinia laughed and shrugged her plump shoulders. After what she had gone through the night before she felt she could face anything. She knew she could talk over the good-natured Hannah and she heard the latter lock the door without feeling much troubled.

For all that Lavinia had a good deal to worry about, and she sat sipping the chocolate while she pondered over what she should do. She could think of no one she could go to besides Mr. Gay. How would he receive her after her escapade?

"He knows so many play actors," she murmured,--"didn't he say I had a stage face? I wonder--I wonder."

And still wondering she rose and straightened the bed. Shifting the pillow she found beneath it the purse she had placed there before going to sleep. Excitement and exhaustion had driven it out of her head. She felt quite remorseful when the remembrance of the chivalrous young man came into her mind.

"Ah me," she sighed. "I'll warrant I'll never set eyes on him again. I do hope he wasn't hurt."

Lavinia looked at the purse wistfully. She had not had the opportunity of seeing what it contained. It was of silk with a silver ring at each end to keep the contents safe, and an opening between the rings. One end had money in it, in the other a piece of paper crackled. She slipped the ring at the money end over the opening and took out the coins--a guinea, a crown and a shilling.

"I don't like taking it. He gave it me to pay the waterman and I hadn't the chance. It isn't mine. I ought to return it to him. But how can I? I don't know where he lives. I don't even know his name."

Then she fingered the other end. She slid the ring but hesitated to do more. To look at the paper seemed like prying into the owner's affairs.

It must be something precious for him to carry it about with him.

Suppose it was a love letter from his sweetheart? She blushed at the idea. Then curiosity was roused. Her fingers crept towards the papers, for there were two. One ran thus:--

"The Duke's Theatre, "Lincoln's Inn Fields.

"SIR,--

"I have read your play and herewith return it. I doubt not it has merit but it will not suit me.

"I am your obedient humble servant,

Lancelot Vane, Esq. "JOHN RICH."

"Poor fellow--so he writes plays. How aggravating to have such a rude letter. 'Obedient--humble--servant,' forsooth! I hate that John Rich.

He's a bear."

Then Lavinia unfolded the second letter. It was more depressing than the first.

"Lancelot Vane, 3, Fletcher's Court, Grub Street," Lavinia read; "Sir,--I give you notiss that if you do nott pay me my nine weeks' rent you owe me by twelve o'clock to-morrer I shall at wunce take possesshun and have innstruckted the sheriff's offiser in ackordance therewith.

Yours respeckfully, Solomon Moggs."

"Oh, a precious lot of respect indeed," cried Lavinia angrily.