“I pay seven and sixpence a week for this and the back room,” said Mrs Lane.
“They’d be dear at half with such furniture,” said Mrs Jenkles.
There was another spell of sewing, when Mrs Lane said that she would see about the dinner; and then, as if reading Mrs Jenkles’s thoughts—
“I don’t like letting Netta go out alone.”
“And quite right, too, with her face,” said Mrs Jenkles. “But she looks tired. You ought to walk out every day for an hour or two.”
The girl gave her a pitiful look.
So the day wore on, Mrs Jenkles taking dinner and tea with them, and seeing that each of them partook of a hearty meal, leaving about half-past nine with a bundle.
It was sharp work to get home before Sam should arrive from the yard; but Mrs Jenkles managed it, had the table laid, the supper out, and the beer fetched, before he came in, took off his shiny hat and old coat, and seating himself began to fill his pipe.
“Well, old lady,” he said, “what time did yer get back?”
“About a quarter of an hour ago,” said Mrs Jenkles, as she took out some of the work upon which she had been engaged.