“The nursery,” she whispered; “capital!”
At either side were two other rooms, with bath and dressing-rooms complete. Undoubtedly it was an exceedingly commodious and well-planned house.
As we stood once more in the nursery—all the wide doors being open—we could see directly through the bungalow out into the porch, as the three large apartments were en suite.
“A draught right through, you see!” she said. “So cool in the hot weather.”
Then we returned to the drawing-room, where I noticed that Netta was already arranging the furniture with her mental eye. At last she turned to the baboo and said, “And what is the rent?”
After a moment’s palpable hesitation he replied, “Ninety rupees a month. If you take it for some time it will be all put in repair and done up.”
“Ninety!” I mentally echoed—and we paid one hundred and forty!
“Does it belong to John Mahomed?” I asked.
“No—to a client.”
“Does he live here?”