“You did.”
“And who chose it—approved of the designs, and all that sort of thing?”
“You certainly did,” he answered. “Some of the ideas were, of course, Mrs Heaton’s.”
“I thought so. I don’t believe myself capable of such barbaric taste as those awful blues and greens in the little sitting-room.”
“The morning-room you mean.”
“I suppose so. The whole place is like a furniture show-room—this style complete, thirty-five guineas, and so on. You know the sort of thing I mean.”
He smiled in amusement at my words.
“Your friends all admire the place,” he remarked.
“What friends?”
“Sir Charles Stimmel, Mr Larcombe, Lady Fraser, and people of that class.”