I don't think I care.

It's nothing to do with her." Hannah forebore pestering the girl with more questions and led her to the open door.

The waitress had been with Mrs.Fenton in the squalid days of six months before at the Bedfordbury coffee shop and she well knew how Lavinia was constantly getting into a scrape, not from viciousness, but from pure recklessness and love of excitement.

Her mother's treatment of her "to cure her of her ways," as the lady put it, was simply brutal.
Hannah was not a little afraid of what would happen when Mrs.Fenton set eyes on her wilful daughter.

At the same time, Lavinia was not the same girl who at Bedfordbury used to run wild, half clad and half starved, and yet never looked like a beggar, so pretty and so attractive was she.
Six months had developed her into a woman and the training of Miss Pinwell, the pink of gentility, had given her the modish airs of a lady of quality.