. But there was
good reason for this defect. She had lost one of her high-heeled shoes,
that with which she had battered the coach window.

In spite of her protest of not caring, Lavinia's heart went pit-a-pat
when she entered the hot, frowsy, greasy air of the coffee house.
Customers were clamouring to be served and there was no Hannah to wait
upon them. Mrs. Fenton, her eyes flashing fire, was bustling up and down
between the rows of boxes and denouncing the truant waitress in vigorous
Billingsgate.

Mrs. Fenton had her back turned to the door when Hannah entered with
Lavinia and the two were half way down the gangway before the lady
noticed them. At the sight of her daughter she dropped the dish of eggs
and bacon she was about to deposit in front of a customer and stared
aghast.

Every eye was turned upon Lavinia who, shaking herself free from
Hannah's friendly support, hastened towards her astonished mother,
anxious to avoid a scene under which in her shattered nerves she might
break down.

"Devil fetch me," Mrs. Fenton ejaculated before she had recovered from
the shock. "Why, you hussy----"

Lavinia did not wait to hear more. She brushed past her mother and then
her strength failing her for a moment, she clutched the back of the last
box to steady herself.

This box was that in which Dobson, the young cattle dealer was seated.
Dobson was human. He fell instantly under the spell of those limpid,
imploring eyes, the tremulous lips, and he rose and proffered his seat.

The act of courtesy was unfortunate. It accentuated Mrs. Fenton's rage.
Her heart was torn by jealousy. That Lavinia had shaken her head and
refused the seat made not the slightest difference. The girl had become
surpassingly handsome. Despite her fury Mrs. Fenton had eyes for this.
Her own daughter had attracted the notice of _her_ man! The offence was
unpardonable.

Lavinia knew nothing about this. All she wanted was to escape
observation and she darted into the kitchen, Betty the cook receiving
her with open mouth.

A narrow, ricketty staircase in a corner of the kitchen shut in by a
door which a stranger would take for that of a cupboard led to the upper
part of the house. Lavinia guessed as much. She darted to this door,
flung it open and ran up the creaking stairs just as her mother, shaking
with passion, entered and caught sight of her flying skirt.

"Good laux, mistress," Betty was beginning, but she could get no
further. Mrs. Fent