"Beautifully," Jenny replied with fervour, "thanks to you and Mr. Churchill. We have had quite a number of customers already—we are paying our way, even now—and they all say that the tea and scones are good."
"Get me some, dear."
Jenny flitted round the screen, and came back with the fragrant teapot and the pat of sweet butter that she was so careful to keep cool; and Mrs. Oxenham ate and drank with the enjoyment of a dainty woman accustomed to the best, and not always finding it where it should be. She talked to her young hostess as the girl passed to and fro, with the object of making her feel that she was still recognised as a lady as well as a restaurant-keeper; for Mrs. Oxenham had ideas as to the status of women, and what determined it, which were much in advance of those popularly held.
"I am on my way to meet the mail steamer," she said, rising when she had finished her tea, and looking at her watch.
"Yes," said Jenny. "My brother told me Mr. Anthony Churchill was expected." She added with a little sigh, "The sea will be looking lovely now."
"You ought to get down to it when you can," said Mrs. Oxenham. "The air in this street is not very wholesome. You should have a blow on the St. Kilda pier of a night, when work is over."
"By-and-by," said Jenny, "when we can afford it, we will have a little home there, and come in and out by tram. At present we do not spend a penny more than is quite necessary. We walk to the house where we sleep, and back. We just keep a room to sleep in; our landlady at this place is a fixture, and takes charge in our absence. But we live here."
"Not wholly on tea and scones, I hope?"
"No," smiled Jenny. "Mother sees to that."
"You must take care to play no tricks with your health. Mind that."