And then Number 68 began to display considerable boldness.
“There’s a little flat in Knightsbridge, a toppin’ little hole, that I think we might go round and look at, old girl, don’t you? Very cheap for the position and the landlord will paint it throughout, and we can have possession any time we want it.”
Polly didn’t mind going to look at it, as she rather liked looking over such things.
The flat was charming. A little high up, perhaps, but there were two delightful rooms that overlooked the park. It was one of the most tempting spots in the metropolis. Yet there was one serious drawback, which in the opinion of Philip, however, was almost a merit. It was likely to be much sought after, said the house-agent; any delay in taking it might be fatal. They could only be allowed a week in which to make up their minds.
Yes, the flat was charming, they agreed, as they walked up Piccadilly. And only a week in which to make up their minds! Still, that was rather providential, if you looked at it from Philip’s point of view.
“Wasn’t it, Polly?”
“Why do you think so, Phil-ipp?”
“We’ve got to make up our minds at once, haven’t we?”
“I’ve made up my mind already, Phil-ipp. It is the very place for you; so much moderner and pleasanter and lighter than your chambers.”
“Yes, old girl, but I shouldn’t think of it for a moment without you.”