'I want,' said Ross, bursting with newly married pride and importance, 'to rent a small house for myself and my er——'
The agent coughed discreetly and said, 'Quite so.'
My face by this time was perfectly crimson with suppressed laughter. I hope Mr Cardew Thompkins thought it was shy blushes.
'The house must be as small as possible,' continued Ross, 'and quite new, with no garden, as my wife doesn't like slugs, do you, lovey? It must be in a row, or at most, semi-detached, as my er——'
'Quite so,' said the agent again.
'My wife is nervous at nights. We haven't been married very long,' said the incorrigible Ross in a burst of confidence.
'We should like it opposite a railway station, if possible, and we want white paint—enamel, I mean—and fireplaces with tiled hearths, nice cheerful wall-papers, and a dodo in the hall.'
'Dado,' I murmured.
'What, sweetie?' said Ross, 'what did you say, my pet?'
I could have murdered him.