They drove up to the door of the house, and having ascended to the fourth floor, let themselves into Philip's retreat with his latchkey.
"It is terribly thrilling," observed the romantic Miss Leslie, "to find yourself alone in a man's rooms."
Peggy said nothing, but looked round the dusty sitting-room with wondering eyes. She thought of her own private den at home, with its pretty curtains, soft cushions, fresh flowers, and the thousand useless but companionable knick-knacks that make a woman's room look cosy. This gaunt, pictureless, carpetless eyrie made her shiver. There was not even a grate in the fireplace: only a rusty gas-stove.
"Mercy on us!" exclaimed Miss Leslie. "Can the man not afford a cover for the table? And where does he sit if a visitor comes?"
She disappeared into Philip's bedroom, and returned dragging a portmanteau.
"The only chair in there has a leg missing," she mentioned. "Take the armchair, child."
Peggy obeyed, and Miss Leslie, seating herself cautiously upon the portmanteau, enquired:—
"How long has the creature been living here?"
"Two or three years, I think."
"Has he no friends?" continued Miss Leslie scathingly.