Netta shrank timidly back into her seat, catching at her mothers hand, while the result of the tobacco-smoke was to set her coughing painfully.
“Now if you please,” said Mrs Sturt, “I want to know what this means?”
And she pointed to the trunk and the other manifest signs of departure.
“I told you a week ago, Mrs Sturt, that we intended to leave,” said Mrs Lane, speaking with a forced calmness, as she pressed her child’s hand encouragingly.
“And so you think a week’s notice is enough after the way as we’ve been troubled to get our bit of rent?” said Mrs Sturt, raising her voice. “Are we to be left with our place empty, after harbouring a pack of lodgers with no more gratitude than—than—than nothing?” continued the woman, at a loss for a simile.
“I have nothing to do with that,” said Mrs Lane, with dignity. “Mrs Sturt, I have rigidly kept to the arrangement I made with you, and you have no right to expect more.”
“Oh, haven’t I?” said the woman. “Do you hear that, Barney? I’ll just let ’em see!”
Barney growled, and showed his teeth.
“Lookye here,” he said, hoarsely; “you aint agoing to leave here, so now then. And you, missus,” tinning to Mrs Jenkles, “you’re gallus clever, you are; but you may let your lodgings to some one else.”
Netta’s clutch of her mother’s hand grew convulsive, and her face wore so horrified an expression that Mrs Jenkles did not reply to the challenge directed at her, but stepped to the poor girl’s side.