“Well?” said Sebastian, watching with considerable amusement, as Letty, candle in hand, peeped into all the bare echoing apartments, evidently seeing in them far more than was apparent to the male eye. “Will it do for us? Which is to be my study?”
Solemnly she led him into what might have been a fair-sized cupboard.
“I protest!” cried Sebastian wrathfully. “You’re just a tyrant. This shall be my study.” And he planted himself firmly in the very largest room of all.
“The drawing-room, of course,” Letty contradicted, her voice holding vistas of many ‘At Home days.’ “And I can’t have your dirty boots all over the pink carpet. Oh, Sebastian, let’s pretend, a bit in each room, that we’re already living here; just to see what you’re like in a house of your own.”
They began their game in a phantom-ridden dining-room; at an imaginary breakfast-table.
“Lettice,” angrily, “this is the fifth bill I’ve had for rose chintz. You’ve had enough rose chintz to make a canopy for Hampstead Heath.”
“Oh, Sebastian, and I’ve only covered three tiny little cushions for your study. I do think you’re ungrateful.”
“I’ve told you sixty times I won’t have cushions in my study.”
“I’m only trying to make you comfortable.”