The bright spring weather only made the dinginess more apparent, but nothing would induce the landlord to treat them to a fresh coat of paint. Marcus whitewashed one or two of the rooms in the intervals of his work, and Olivia put up clean curtains and purchased a plant or two. As far as scrupulous cleanliness could avail, the little house was in first-rate order. Nevertheless Marcus gave vent to an impatient sigh now and then as he looked round the small, low room. The side windows had been blocked up in the days of the window-tax, and the one small window lighted the room imperfectly.
"If we could only move," he said once. "I want you and Dot to have more light and air. We are too near the cemetery, too. We should do much better in Compton Street or Norfolk Terrace." And then, as Olivia looked at him in surprise, he said a little impatiently:
"Oh, I know it is not to be done yet. We shall have to want a little longer. I believe it was that insufferable woman, Mrs. Tolman, put it into my head. She actually told me that we ought to move, as no good class of patients would ever come to Galvaston Terrace. It was just like her impudence—eh, Livy?"
"Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry," and Olivia put down her work and looked at him sympathetically. "I thought something had annoyed you the moment you came in. It is too bad of Mrs. Tolman always to tread upon people's corns in this fashion. She might wait until one asks her advice."
"Oh, but it is true, all the same," he returned, with a tinge of despondency in his voice.
"A good house in a good neighbourhood would make all the difference to the practice. A house in Brunswick Place, for example."
But Olivia only laughed. "Someone besides myself can build air-castles," she said, archly. "You might as well go on, Marcus. Why not be Dr. Bevan's partner, too?" Then Marcus started, and an odd little smile played round his mouth. The very same thought had already occurred to him.