Her mother's insinuations maddened poor Lavinia. The mention of
Lewknor's Lane and Whetstone Park, two of the most infamous places in
London, was amply sufficient to break her spirit, which indeed was Mrs.
Fenton's intention. The worst of it was that after what had happened she
had in her secret heart come round to the same opinion so far as the
baiting of the trap was concerned. She was far too cast down to make
any reply and wept copiously, purely through injured pride and
humiliation.

"You must leave me to deal with this business, child," said Mrs. Fenton
loftily. "If the young man really belongs to the quality and what he
writes about his father is true, then his father must be made to pay for
the injury his son's done you. I suppose he's told you who his father is
and where he lives, and _I_ want to know too. If I'm to get you out of
the mess you're in you must help me."

"I won't," gasped Lavinia between her sobs. "I don't want to hear
anything more about him or his father either. I wish to forget both of
them."

"Humph! That won't be so easy as you'll find, you stubborn little fool.
Keep your mouth shut if you like. I'll ferret out the truth without
you."

And stuffing the letter into her capacious pocket, Mrs. Fenton stalked
out of the room and directly she was outside she turned the key in the
lock. Lavinia, too exhausted in body and too depressed in mind to think,
sobbed herself to sleep.