“Is the carpet to let, too?”
“I don’t know. I dare say we could buy it. And mind you, Henrietta, the kitchen is on the ground floor. That’s unusual, if you like, in an old house. I made sure of that before I went any further.”
“How far are you going?”
“We’ll go everywhere to-morrow, even into the coal cellar. To-day I just peeped.”
“I can imagine you. But what do you want a house for, Charles?”
“For you,” he said. “You say you don’t like spending the evenings here—well, let’s spend them in the little house. We can’t go on being engaged indefinitely.”
“Certainly not,” she said firmly, “and I should adore a little house of my own. I believe that’s just what I want.”
“Then that’s settled.”
“But not with you, Charles.”
He said nothing for a time. She was sitting up, her hands clasped on her lap, and as she looked at him she half regretted her last words. This was how they would sit in the little house, by the fire, surrounded by their own possessions, with everything clean and bright and, as he had said, very cosy. She had never had a home.