Mrs. Jenkins had many virtues. Besides the cardinal one which has been particularly brought under the reader’s notice—that of keeping her husband in due subjection—she also possessed, in an eminent degree, the excellent quality of being a most active housewife. In fact, she had the bump of rule and order, and personally superintended everything—with hands and tongue.
Amongst other careful habits, was that of never letting any one put a finger on her best sitting-room, for the purpose of cleaning it, except herself. She called it her drawing-room—a small, pretty room over the shop, very well furnished. It was let to Mr. Harper, with the bedroom behind it. Had Lydia dared even to wipe the dust off a table, it might have cost her her place. Mrs. Jenkins was wont to slip her old buff dressing-gown over her clothes, after she was dressed in a morning, and take herself to this drawing-room. Twice a week it was carefully swept, and on those occasions a large green handkerchief, tied cornerwise upon Mrs. Jenkins’s head, to save her cap from dust, was added to her costume.
On the morning following Roland’s communication to Mr. Galloway, Mrs. Jenkins was thus occupied—a dust-pan in one hand, a short hand-broom in the other—for you may be sure she did not sweep her carpets with those long, slashing, tear-away brooms that wear out a carpet in six months—and the green kerchief adjusted gracefully over her ears—when she heard a man’s footsteps clattering up the stairs. In much astonishment as to who could have invaded the house at that hour, Mrs. Jenkins rose from her knees and flung open the door.
It was Roland Yorke, coming up at full speed, with a carpet-bag in his hand. “Whatever do you want?” exclaimed she. “Is anything the matter?”
“The matter is, that I want to say a word to Jenkins,” replied Roland. “I know he must be in bed, so I just ran straight through the shop and came up.”
“I’m sure you are very polite!” exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins. “For all you knew, I might have been in the room.”
“So you might!” cried easy Roland. “I never thought of that. I should not have swallowed you, Mrs. Jenkins. Take care! I have hardly a minute to spare. I shall lose the train.”
On he went, up the second flight of stairs, without the slightest hesitation, and into Jenkins’s room, ignoring the ceremony of knocking. Poor Jenkins, who had heard the colloquy, and recognized Roland’s voice, was waiting for him with wondering eyes.
“I am off, Jenkins,” said Roland, advancing and bending over the bed. “I wouldn’t go without just saying a word to you.”
“Off where, sir?” returned Jenkins, who could not have looked more bewildered had he been suddenly aroused from sleep.