"Will you just wait here a minute, Mrs. Stitchley, and I'll pull up the blind?" she said.
Mrs. Stitchley smirked and smiled, whilst Mrs. Bindle made her way, with amazing dexterity, through the maze of things with which the room was crammed, in the direction of the window.
A moment later, she pulled up the dark-green blind, which was always kept drawn so that the carpet might not fade, and the sunlight shuddered into the room. It revealed a grievous medley of antimacassared chairs, stools, photograph-frames, pictures and ornaments, all of which were very dear to Mrs. Bindle's heart.
"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Stitchley?" enquired Mrs. Bindle primly. Mrs. Stitchley was inveterate in her attendance at the Alton Road Chapel; Bindle had once referred to her as "a chapel 'og."
"Thank you, my dear, thank you," said Mrs. Stitchley, whose manner exuded friendliness.
She looked about her dubiously, and it was Mrs. Bindle who settled matters by indicating a chair of stamped-plush, the seat of which rose hard and high in the centre. Over the back was an ecru antimacassar, tied with a pale-blue ribbon. After a moment's hesitation, Mrs. Stitchley entrusted it with her person.
"It's a long time since I see you, Mrs. Bindle." They had met three evenings previously at chapel.
Mrs. Bindle smiled feebly. She always suspected Mrs. Stitchley of surreptitious drinking, in spite of the fact that she belonged to the chapel Temperance Society. Mrs. Stitchley's red nose, coupled with the passion she possessed for chewing cloves, had made her fellow-worshipper suspicious.
"Wot a nice room," Mrs. Stitchley looked about her appreciatively, "so genteel, and 'ow refined."
Mrs. Bindle smirked.