t will be good practice for our tempers, for we really daren't
quarrel in such very close quarters. Let's look at the sitting-room for
a change. You said that was a decent size."

"Oh yes--quite; and a pretty shape, too. Don't you like the shape!
Don't you think that rounded window is sweet in the corner? It would
make a dear, quiet little nook if it were curtained off; wouldn't it
dear?" cried the eldest sister, anxious to divert the artist's eyes from
the saffron paper, with the aggressive roses and the gilded leaves,
which was in such disastrously good condition that the company could not
really be expected to replace it.

"Yes; I'll sit in there when I'm engaged, and let the cord go free. A
very good room, with plenty of possibilities. Nothing square and stiff
about it. That corner would do charmingly for the cabinet; and we will
fit in shelves for the china in that funny little niche. We must keep
the middle of the floor as clear as possible, for I shall want space for
my receptions. _Philippa Charrington_! Do you mean to look me in the
face and say that you are responsible for this paper?"

"No, no--of course not. The last tenant left it. I begged hard for
another, but it was no use. Make the best of it just now, there's a
dear, and perhaps in a year or so we may get another."

"We are going to have another before the week is out," declared Madge;
and when her sister protested, "Look here," she said sturdily, "let us
come to a clear understanding. We made up our minds to make this move
and to face the cost, and we are not going to spoil the house for the
sake of a few pounds. Before we have done with putting things in order
we shall have a dozen unexpected expenses. Things won't fit and will
have to be altered; we shall have to buy little fixings, and have
workmen in and out. If you are going to groan over every sixpence we
shall have a dismal old time. Make up your mind to pay and be cheerful,
since you've got to pay whether you like it or not. About this
wall-paper! I suppose there are some families who could live in peace
and happiness staring at yellow cabbages, but we are not one of them.
We inherit artistic fastidiousness, and should hate them worse every day
of our lives. When we can't afford to go out for amusements, isn't it
our duty to make home as attractive as possible? When we shall spend a
round hundred over the removal, is it worth while to spoil our best room
for the sake o