Apparently she was not in the best of tempers this morning. A drover who attempted to jest with her was unmercifully snubbed, and so also was a master butcher from Marylebone, who as a rule was received with favour. But the lady was not in an ill temper with everybody--certainly not with the stolid farmer-like man who was plodding his way through a rumpsteak washed down by small beer. The coffee shop was divided into boxes and the farmer-like man was seated in one near the door which opened into the kitchen. Mrs. Fenton had constantly to pass in and out and his seat was conveniently placed so as to permit her to bestow a smile upon him as she went by or to exchange a hurried word. "The mistress is a bit sweet in that quarter, eh?" whispered a customer with a jerk of the head and a wink to Hannah the waitress, whom Mrs. Fenton had brought with her from Bedfordbury. "I should just think she was," returned the girl contemptuously. "It makes one sick. She ought to be a done with sweetheartin'." "A woman's never too old for that, my girl, as you'll find when you're her age. She might do worse. Dobson's got a tidy little purse put by. There aren't many in the market as does better than him. He's brought up twenty head o' cattle from his farm at Romford an' he'll sell 'em all afore night--money down on the nail, mind ye. That'll buy Mistress Fenton a few fallals if she's a mind for 'em." "An' if she's fool enough. Why, he isn't much more than half her years and she with a grown up daughter too." "Aye. May be the gal 'ud be more a match for Dobson than her mother." "Don't you let my mistress hear you say that. Why she's that jealous of Lavinia she could bite the girl's head off. My! Well I never!" Hannah started visibly and fixed her eyes on the entrance. "What's the matter, wench?" growled the man. "I don't believe in ghosts," returned the girl, paling a little and her hands trembling in a fashion which rather belied her words, "or I'd say as I'd just seen Miss Lavinia's sperrit look in at the door. If it isn't her ghost it's her double." "Why don't you run outside and settle your mind?" "'Cause it's impossible it could be her. The girl's at boarding school." "What's that got to do with it? You go and see." Hannah hesitated, but at last plucked up her courage and went to the door. She saw close to the wall some few yards away a somewhat draggle-tail figure in cloak and hood. Within the hood was Lavinia's face, though one would hardly recognise it as hers, so white, so drawn, were the cheeks. "Saints alive, surely it isn't you, Miss Lavvy?" cried Hannah, clasping her hands as she ran to the fugitive. "Indeed it is, worse luck. I'm in sad straits, Hannah. I wouldn't have come here--I know what mother is--but I couldn't think what to do." "But good lord--the school--mercy on us child, they haven't turned you out, have they?"