A mother sell her own child! It's
horrible--horrible."

"What are you talking about, you tiresome Hannah?" cried the girl
opening her eyes very wide.

"Ah, you may well ask. After you was locked up she pocketted that letter
from your spark and off she went to his lodgings in the Temple. She well
plied herself with cordials an' a drop o' gin or two afore she started,
an' my name's not Hannah if she didn't repeat the dose as she came back.
I knowed it at once by her red face an' her tongue a-wagging nineteen to
the dozen. She can't keep her mouth shut when she's like that. It all
comed out. She'd been to that Mr. Der--Dor--what's his name?"

"Dorrimore. Yes--yes. Go on. I want to hear," exclaimed Lavinia
breathlessly.

"I wouldn't ha' said a word agen her if she'd insisted upon the fine
young gentleman paying for his frolic a trying to fool you--which he
didn't do an' you may thank yourself for your sperrit Miss Lavvy--that
was only what a mother ought to do, but to sell her own child to make
money out of her own flesh an' blood--well I up an' told her to her face
what I thought of her."

"Make money out of _me_, good gracious Hannah, how?"

"The fellow offered her fifty guineas if she'd hand you over to him. He
swore he'd make a lady of you."

"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