"--four hundred yards from the Central Tube, to be exact; and there's a
large roller skating-rink next door. You never rolled, did you? Three
sessions daily, the advertisement says."

"I'm afraid I sat oftener than that when I rolled," I confessed. "'Another
transport split,' as the evening papers say. I wonder whether Sir ERIC
GEDDES is the rink-controller. But tell me a little about the house. I
suppose there's a high premium and a deep basement?"

"There are."

"Next, please."

"The next is at Chiswick; very damp and miles and miles to catch your bus.
And there's a basement again."

"You might grow mushrooms in the basement," I said hopefully, "while I
hunted my Pimlico on the shore. What about the third?"

"The third is at Hampstead, very high up and very salubrious. The agent
says we should be able to overlook the whole of London."

"Impossible," I protested; "you can't ignore a thing like London."

"I don't think he meant that exactly," she explained. "He said that from
the top bedroom window on bright days one could catch a glimpse of the dome
of St. Paul's."

"That will be rather fine," I agreed. "We can have afternoon receptions in
the top bedroom, and print 'To meet the Dean and Chapter' on the card.