“I think,” said Eleanor demurely, “I think I—I might . . . in a house.”
“I’ll back the lady,” shouted Crispin. “I’ll lay five to one—six—ten . . . ten sovereigns to one sovereign the lady gets her way.”
“Taken,” said Madge. “David, stick to your guns. The Court of Appeal’s behind you. Besides, I’ve had some. If you take a house before you’ve got the right servants you’ll be buying trouble in red.”
Eleanor gave her fiancé a melting look.
“David darling,” she murmured, “don’t you think that this once we could upset the Court of Appeal? After all, we’ve got to live in it—you . . . and I.”
She blushed exquisitely.
Herrick writhed.
“Be strong,” shrieked Madge, “be strong. Think of the housemaids saying they can’t stick the stairs and the cook complaining of the damp and the charwomen——”
“Ch-charwomen?” stammered David.
“Charwomen. Relays of them—when all the servants have gone. And the silver at the Bank because you’ve no one to clean it, and poor Nell in tears counting your shirts, and answering the back-door yourself. . . . At least, a flat has only one door.”