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."

There was no help for it. Lavinia knew her mother's temper when it was
roused. Slowly rubbing her eyes she sat up, a rueful and repentant
little beauty, but having withal an expression in her eyes which seemed
to suggest that she wasn't going to be brow-beaten without a struggle.

"I ran away from school to be married," said she with a little pause
between each word. "I thought I was being taken to the Fleet, but when I
saw the coach wasn't going the right way I knew I was being tricked. On
London Bridge I broke the coach window, opened the door and escaped."

"A parcel of lies! I don't believe one of 'em," interjected the irate
dame.

"I can't help that. It's the truth all the same. I cut my arm with the
broken glass. Perhaps that'll convince you."

Lavinia held out her bandaged arm.

"No, it won't. What's become of your shoe?"

"I took it off to break the window with the heel and afterwards lost
it."

Mrs. Fenton was silent. If Lavinia were telling false-hoods she told
them remarkably well. She spoke without the slightest hesitation and the
story certainly hung together.

"After I jumped from the coach I ran to the river, down the stairs at
the foot of the bridge. The water was low and I stood under the bridge
afraid to move. A terrible fight was going on above me. I don't know
what it was about. The shooting and yelling went on for a long time and
I dursn't stir. I would have taken a wherry but no waterman came near.
Then the tide turned; the water came about my feet and I crept up the
stairs. I was in the Borough, but I