"There is no bath-room!" went on Conny, sternly. She had a love of practical details and small opportunity for indulging it, except with regard to her own costume; and now she proceeded to plunge into elaborate statements on the subject of hot water, and the practicability of having it brought up in cans.
The end of it was that an expedition to Baker Street was organised for the next day; when the whole party drove across the park to that pleasant, if unfashionable, region, for the purpose of inspecting the hopeful premises.
It was a chill, bright afternoon, and notwithstanding that it was the end of May, the girls wore their winter cloaks, and Mrs. Devonshire her furs.
"What number did you say, Gertrude?" asked Phyllis, as the carriage turned into New Street, from Gloucester Place.
"Twenty B."
As they came into Baker Street, a young man, slim, high-coloured, dark-haired, darted out, with some impetuosity, from the post-office at the corner, and raised his hat as his eye fell on the approaching carriage.
Constance bowed, colouring slightly.
"Who is your friend, Conny?" said her mother.
"Oh, a man I meet sometimes at dances. I believe his name is Jermyn. He dances rather well."