The matter of selecting the new home was not a difficult one—at first. They decided at once that, if they could not have an apartment in the Reddington Chambers, they would prefer a house. "For," Burke said, "as for being packed away like sardines in one of those abominable little cheap flat-houses, I won't!" So a house they looked for at the start. And very soon they found what Helen said was a "love of a place"—a pretty little cottage with a tiny lawn and a flower-bed.
"And it's so lucky it's for rent," she exulted. "For it's just what we want, isn't it, dearie?"
"Y-yes; but—"
"Why, Burke, don't you like it? I think it's a dear! Of course it isn't like your father's house. But we can't expect that."
"Expect that! Great Scott, Helen,—we can't expect this!" cried the man.
"Why, Burke, what do you mean?"
"It'll cost too much, dear,—in this neighborhood. We can't afford it."
"Oh, that'll be all right. I'll economize somewhere else. Come; it says the key is next door."
"Yes, but, Helen, dearest, I know we can't—" But "Helen, dearest," was already halfway up the adjoining walk; and Burke, with a despairing glance at her radiant, eager face, followed her. There was, indeed, no other course open to him, as he knew, unless he chose to make a scene on the public thorough-fare—and Burke Denby did not like scenes.
The house was found to be as attractive inside as it was out; and Helen's progress from room to room was a series of delighted exclamations. She was just turning to go upstairs when her husband's third desperate expostulation brought her feet and her tongue to a pause.