“It is really and truly the best thing I could find in a central position,” said Philippa sadly. “The question is—ought we to give up the idea of living in town, and take a little house in the suburbs? If we went out in an unfashionable direction we could get one for half the cost. I asked the agent, and he said there were any number to be had. They run them up in a few months—rows and rows of them—quite nice, compact little houses, with all modern conveniences—”
“I know! Thank you,” interrupted Theo haughtily. “I’ve seen them from the train—hundreds of them—exactly alike, with sunflowers in the front garden, and the washing in the back, and such nice, sociable neighbours over the palings!”
“It’s all very well, Theo, but can we afford to be snobbish? We shall have to pocket our pride, and save every penny-piece that is possible. If the house would be cheaper—”
“I’m not so sure that it would. It is different for a man and his wife. But you must remember that we should have four, perhaps five railway contracts to add to the rent. Our great object is to be near our work, and we might almost as well stay where we are as bury ourselves in an out-of-the-way suburb. If we go to the flat, Madge will be almost next door to the Slade School, the boys can come home for lunch, and Hope and I will be near libraries and concerts, and have some chance of picking up odd pieces of work. Suppose I go in for journalism? How am I to be in the hum of things when I live a dozen miles away, and have probably a bad service of trains?”
“Suppose I get accompanying to do at concerts? I intend to call on some of the lady professionals who sing father’s songs and ask them to give me a chance. I shall have to get used to going about by myself at night, but it would be nice to be in a central position, and not have too far to go,” said Hope wistfully; and her eldest sister, looking at her golden locks and sweet pink-and-white face, came to a sudden determination.
“We will take the flat. It’s no use doing things by halves. We must hope to save the money in travelling expenses and lunches. I will write to the agent and settle it to-night.”
So the flat was taken, and the question of furniture was the next to come upon the tapis. For the larger articles there could be no accommodation; they must be sold for what they would bring; but even without them there was an incredible number of possessions with which it seemed impossible to part. Curtains were faded, carpets so darned and mended as to be incapable of removal, but Edgar Charrington had been picking up artistic treasures all his life, and the rooms were crowded with quaint, old-world furniture. There was a Chinese cabinet, shaped like a pagoda, with coloured Chinese figures standing in the niches. It would take up more room than could be spared, but who could bear to part with it, remembering the fascination of those figures to the infant mind, the later joy of turning over the contents of the daintily fitting drawers, and sniffing the sweet, musty odour? There was an oak-framed picture of a church, with a real clock fitted into the steeple. A place for that must be found somewhere, or life would be robbed of one of its oldest associations. There was a black silhouette picture of Great-great-aunt Martha riding on a pillion; and another of Grandfather and Grandmother Charrington, with a family of six little Charringtons, clad in décolleté dresses, spencers, and pantaloons. What Goth or Vandal could find it in his heart to part with them? There was a collection of old china, of pewter, of old beaten silver; and such stacks of pictures, framed and unframed, as were quite alarming to count.
“What shall we do with them? Shall we pack half away in chests and ask the vicar to store them in his loft? He would be only too glad to keep them for us. It seems absurd to take such a collection. The place will look like a museum,” cried Philippa, in despair; but the idea seemed to commend itself rather than otherwise to her ambitious young sisters.
“Just what it ought to look, as a temple of the Muses. No use pretending to be artistic against a commonplace background. Let us make our rooms as striking, and unusual, and ‘ancestory’ as we can. I hate a house that looks as if it had been furnished yesterday. When people come to call, they will: have a pretty good idea of what we are by looking round our rooms.”
“But who is to come, you dear little snob? We know nobody. I’m afraid the arrival of the Charrington family won’t make much stir in the great Metropolis. I can tell you I felt a lone, lorn creature, walking about those crowded streets, and thinking that not a single soul knew me or cared whether I lived or died. As for Aunt Loftus, she may come once, perhaps, to pay a formal call, but we sha’n’t be troubled with her after that; and I should be sorry to count upon uncle’s promised introductions. We shall be left severely to ourselves.”