Beyond the passage was a little room, designed, no doubt, for a waiting or dressing-room; and beyond this, divided by an aperture, evidently intended for curtains, came the studio itself, a fair-sized glass structure, in some need of repair.
"You will have to make this place as pretty as possible," said Conny; "you will be nothing if not æsthetic. And now for the rooms."
The floor immediately above the shop had been let to a dressmaker, and it was the two upper floors which stood vacant.
On the first of these was a fair-sized room with two windows, looking out on the street, divided by folding doors from a smaller room with a corner fire-place.
"This would make a capital sitting-room," said Conny, marching up and down the larger apartment.
"And this," cried Gertrude, from behind the folding-doors, which stood ajar, "could be fitted up beautifully as a kitchen."
"You will have to have a kitchen-range, my dears," remarked Mrs. Devonshire, who was becoming deeply interested, and whose spirits, moreover, were rising under the sense that here, at least, she could speak to the young people from the heights of knowledge and experience; "and water will have to be laid on; and you will certainly need a sink."
"This grey wall-paper," went on Conny, "is not pretty, but at least it is inoffensive."
"And the possibilities for evil of wall-papers being practically infinite, I suppose we must be thankful for small mercies in that respect," answered Gertrude, emerging from her projected kitchen, and beginning to examine the uninteresting decoration in her short-sighted fashion.
Upstairs were three rooms, capable of accommodating four people as bed-rooms, and which bounded the little domain.