"No, I've lived in London all my life—my business is there. That's why I go to the country when I get a holiday."
"Ah," said Mr. Kemp reflectively, "it's a great place, London—room for all sorts in it!"
"Yes," said David. "What lovely roses you have, Mrs. Kemp, and how sweet the pinks smell! What flowers are those in the corner—the high, purple flowers against the wall?"
"Them?" she said. "Lor! I'm a poor one at flowers. What do you call 'em, John?"
"I dunno," said John.
"Well, I don't wonder you think twice about taking lodgers, but I"—he laughed feebly—"I'm a very honest person; I wouldn't steal so much as a leaf."
There was a pause. They all looked at one another.
"What do you say, John?" she murmured. "We might manage to take the young man in, perhaps, eh?"
"You won't find me any trouble if you do. You'll give me a first-rate character when I leave you!" cried David with geniality that exhausted him.
"About rent," said Mr. Kemp. "What did you think of paying?"