“Not much of an outlook on somebody’s bean patch,” he grumbled. “Deuce of a nuisance we didn’t go nearer the sea.”
“Sea view apartments are beyond our figure,” she returned. “Besides you ought not to want any outlook, nor anything else except me.”
St. John’s ill-humour vanished, and he smiled as he put his arm round her shoulders and drew her nearer to his side.
“I don’t,” he asseverated.
“Then what are you grumbling at?”
“I wasn’t; I was only wishing that things were a little nicer for you.”
“That’s very kind of you, dear, but you might wait until I complain before you begin throwing a damper on things. I think that everything is lovely, only—who is to manage the landlady, Jack? I’m sure I daren’t; she looks as if she would stick on the extras. We must do our own marketing, and she won’t like that, I suppose.”
St. John looked uneasy.
“You always said,” he remarked in a reminiscent manner, “that you would never allow your husband to interfere in domestic concerns; it wasn’t a man’s work.”
“Well, you are a coward,” cried Jill; “big men generally are. And she’s only a little woman, not any bigger than I.”