"
"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."
"Love?" rapped out Lavinia sharply.
"Aye, it's love as is taking you to Twitenham with the young man's
rubbishy play."
"You've not read it, Hannah. It's not fair to call it rubbishy."
"Not read it, no, nor never shall, and may be I'll never see it acted
either. But I hope it will be, Lavinia, for your sake. But take care,
it's ill falling in love with a man who's fond of his cups."
Lavinia made no reply. Her face had suddenly gone grave.
Hannah ceased to tease her and bustled about to get supper--something
warm and comforting, stewed rabbit and toasted cheese to follow.
The bedroom shared by Lavinia and Hannah was in the front of the house.
About two o'clock both were awakened by the champing of a horse and the
squeaking and scraping of wheels followed by a loud wrangling in a deep
bass growl and a shrill treble.
"That's the mistress--drat her," grumbled Hannah from under the
coverlet. "She's a-beatin' down the coachman. She always does it."
The hubbub was ended, and not altogether to the satisfaction of the
hackney coachman judging by the way he banged his door. Mrs. Fenton
stumbled up the stairs to her room rating the extortion of drivers, and
after a time all was silence.
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