switched over the leaves of his book, ran his
finger down a list, and hesitated, frowning. "There is _one_ vacancy
which might suit--a small block of flats on the borders of Hammersmith.
The postal address is Kensington. I don't know if you are particular as
to address?"

"Not a bit."

"Ah!" The agent evidently thought small beer of me for the admission.
"Most ladies are. In this case we can ask an extra five pounds a year
because of the Kensington address, and the class of tenants is much
better than in the adjoining blocks a few hundred yards off, where the
postal address is Hammersmith."

Bridget coughed in an impressive fashion which was intended to say,
"Better class! Hark to that now! That's the place for us!" As for me,
I was torn between amusement at the rank snobbery of it all, and a
tender pity for the pathos that lay behind! Poor strugglers, clinging
on to the fringe of society, squeezing out the extra pounds so badly
needed for necessities, for--what? The satisfaction of seeing a certain
word written on an envelope, or of impressing a shop assistant with its
sound. In some cases no doubt there were deeper reasons than
snobbishness, and it was thought of them which supplied the pathos.
Some careworn men and women had weighed that extra rent in the balance,
and had considered that it was "worth while," since a good address might
prove an asset in the difficult fight for existence, or perchance some
loved one far away had vicariously suffered in past privations, and
might be deluded into believing in a false prosperity by the
high-sounding address. My ready imagination pictured the image of an
invalid mother contentedly informing her neighbours: "My daughter has
moved to Kensington. Yes! Such a charming neighbourhood. The gardens,
you know. _And_ the royal palace!" Five pounds a year might be
worthily expended on such a gain as this!

Well, there seemed nothing for it but to prospect Weltham Mansions at
once, so we chartered yet another taxi, and hurried off without delay to
have daylight for our inspection. We drove for miles, through streets
at first wide and handsome, then growing ever dingier and more
"decayed". Is there anything in the world more depressing than a
third-rate English suburb? I can imagine being poor contentedly in
almost every other land--in India, for instance, I know of impecunious
couples who have lived in two tents beneath two mango trees with comfort
and enjoyme