"No, indeed," cried Lavinia, indignantly. "I don't want ever to see him
again."

"Well, your mother does," returned Hannah with an odd kind of laugh.

"Whatever for?"

"I'll let you have the story d'rectly, but you tell me your tale first."

By this time they were in the shop and Hannah caught sight of Lavinia's
white, drawn face and her tear-swollen eyes.

"You poor baby. What's your fresh troubles?"

"Nothing--that is, not much. I'm tired. I'm faint. Give me some
coffee--cocoa--anything."

Faint indeed she was. At that meal with Lancelot Vane she had eaten very
sparingly. She was too excited, too much absorbed and interested in
seeing him so ravenous to think of herself. In addition she had gone
through much fatigue.

"Coffee--cocoa--to be sure," cried the kindly Hannah, "an' a hot
buttered cake besides. You shan't say a word till I've gotten them
ready."

The cook had gone. There was no one in the house save Hannah. The two
went into the kitchen where the fire was burning low--with the aid of
the bellows Hannah soon fanned the embers into a flame and she was not
happy until Lavinia had eaten and drank.